The obscured, the omitted and the unsaid
by WorstPenNameEver
Summary: Sequel to Stolen. No downright lies, just very clever half-truths and secrets. They use one another to get what they want.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The assumption that opposites should exist has always been accepted as an axiom. It's by this principle that a belief is formed that, when brought together or by existing in the same plane, these opposites should ascertain balance. But Frigga, the queen, baffled by the unlike alliance, believed it would bring nothing but more unruliness.

The door was opened ajar, offering her the chance to gaze at the odd pair through a small crack. Each one was everything the other was not. The girl was almost clumsy in her boldness; straightforward and quick-tongued, she strolled, too curious to stop herself from touching every object and voicing every thought. And Loki, her lost son, was then brooding, always cunning and plotting, an intrigue always the lone temptress of his spirit.

The trickster god and the mortal girl were to remain in the room until a decision was reached by the Allfather and the council. Even the queen thought it unfair to judge the girl by association instead of listening to her side of the story. She saw no malice in her, only recklessness and an upfront attitude, but she was innocent, her ways not of one that sought to conceal hidden intentions.

The queen nodded, and the guards pulled at the heavy doors, leaving the god and the mortal alone once more.

"Not yet on my bucket list, but if it was, I'll say it would pretty high: 'Not causing a freaking family feud between gods'," Darcy said, putting on a fake smile. "I would appreciate it, next time, if you just refrained from dragging my ass into another dimension only so I could get under divine arrest."

"And you would do good to remain silent in Odin's presence," he let her know casually.

"Jesus, Loki! Do you seriously not see what you did wrong?" she shouted, pressing her fingers on her temples. "You kidnapped me! You do know what that means, don't you? It's when you take someone against their will. There." At his lack of response, Darcy sighed, resigned, and went to sit on the stairs by his side.

Something else had caught her attention. Darcy noted they were in the same room that had served as location for her previous dream. Meaning: he had been part of it. She couldn't have dreamt - not with so many details – of something she hadn't seen before. She felt her face getting hot, and hoped that he wouldn't mention it like he did some times in the past; the sole mention of her blushing would result in the pink becoming a deep red. Well, that time she had been willing, she would not deny that.

And she kept amazing herself by forgetting he could actually read her mind like a book. And that was so not the right time for thinking about wet dreams. She didn't want to give off the wrong signals. Abduction was bad; she needed to be angry and/or sad, not horny.

"You are frightened," he said, mistaking the intention behind her widening eyes. He had stopped reading her mind; he found that guessing was, if anything, more entertaining.

Very aware that he could guess the real reason behind her fidgeting, she tensed, and looked straight ahead, not able to take off her eyes off the gigantic bed. "Right now? No, just really pissed."

And, even when Darcy was smiling, seemingly resigned and accepting, her words had angered him. "You are in no position to be angry," he said. "You confound me. You pled for your life, and now you refuse to pay the price."

"When you're facing eternal incarceration, life just doesn't sound so good anymore, Loki," she said, forcing an even huger grin. Truth to be told, his talking angry in her ear did nothing to lessen the flush.

Tired of her apparent display of indifference, he leaned forward, wanting to torment her, and whispered, "You wish me to undone my will then." His breath had but ruffled her hair, revealing a pale path on the back of her neck, but he smiled, triumphant, at the goose bumps that formed on her skin. She squirmed, stiffed and straightened in a poor spectacle of courage. "Are you asking me, a god, to revert my actions and end your life? You want to perish by my hands, is that what you wish for? Are you so bold to claim such a favor, _mortal_?" Darcy jerked at the mention of the label. "Your life, every breath you take, is but a gift I concede you, and I find offense in your desire to return it." He raised one hand, his index finger in a straight line, wanting to trace it down her spine.

"Still," she said, standing up, escaping his touch without planning it, "coming here wasn't my idea. You could have, I don't know, asked me first?" Despite being annoyed by his arrogance, she perfectly understood the meaning behind his words. He didn't mean it as a threat, just a reminder, as always, that she should be resigned to spend the rest of her life being grateful to him. And she was scared; the idea of being left alone to fight against an unknown darkness creeping inside her, making a house of her flesh, was very, very frightening. She wasn't sure of the intentions behind Loki's actions, but she internally sighed with relief when he decided to act rashly and take her.

"Are you aware?" he suddenly asked.

"Aware of what?"

"Aware of her power acting upon you," he concluded rather harshly.

"Oh, that. Yes," Darcy confessed, mildly conscious that he did take a peek that time to find out the reason behind her abstraction.

She walked to a desk positioned by the window. Every surface had gathered dust, and, when she moved a volume resting on the desk, the wood was revealed to be untarnished and shiny underneath. The room had remained untouched for a long time, inhabited and forgotten, perhaps a memorial to cherish or to avoid, the monument to a betrayer or just plain living history. She felt an overwhelming melancholy in knowing with what ease they could just cast Loki out. She could suffer for him, while he wanted nothing but dwell in the satisfaction of a well-executed revenge.

She sat by the desk, opening the heavy volume to stare at the strange inscriptions. She caught, in the corner of her eye, Loki standing up, making no sound as he walked to the bed and removed the heavy vest. He looked younger without the bulkiness; covered only in dark and emerald tones, his figure was long and elegant, almost catlike when he walked. And she wanted to turn around and look at him, not remember him from the fuzzy perspective of a dream; she wanted to focus on the reality of him.

"You guys would _love_ Las Vegas," Darcy said to break the silence, wake herself from a daydream. "Lots of gold there, too, though, I think, you guys might've taken it a little bit overboard." She glanced around the huge chamber. "And," she added sheepishly, "somehow, it seems like the perfect place for someone like you: The God of Mischief in Sin City."

Darcy had her eyes gaze glued to the page, unmoving, when she noticed his approaching. She lowered her head, almost pressing her nose against the pages so, when he put a hand on her shoulder, he wouldn't notice how she closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. And his palm was warm as if he had exposed it to a nice fire. She leaned to the touch, knowing what was to come, but too compelled to do anything to fight it. He didn't move his hand, letting the tips of the fingers press on her collarbone, but the warmth spread downwards and, like heavy molasses rolling down her skin, it slowly descended to envelop her. It started with her willingness, but she acknowledged the symptoms of his spell exacerbating the small spark that she ignited.

Loki pushed the book, sweeping a trail of dust with it, and threw it on the floor. He sat on the edge of the desk, and his hands came to encircle her waist to make her stand between his legs. Still with his sitting, she stood shorter by him.

He took in her manner of dress. She was clad in a light summer dress of empire silhouette; the curves of her hips and outlines of her thighs showed through the white fabric. And it was modest, by Midgardian standards, even when he could perfectly see the underline of her undergarments.

"I wish to prove a theory," he said, putting both hands on her upper arms.

Darcy shook her head, wanting to fight off the numbness of his spell. She wanted to escape, and so she leaned away, her back arching to grant her some space between them.

"No, no," he implored in a whisper, grasping her chin. He gave her a swift kiss, barely nibbling down on her bottom lip to erase her pout. "I want you to speak the truth, yes?" he said, backing away. He was satisfied to see her face relaxing, and gave her a quick peck on the lips this time as reward.

Angry and embarrassed, a flush crept up her neckline and reached her face. "Hurry up then, asshole," she said lowly, his tongue feeling like dead weight and her lips swollen like she had been drinking liquor for hours.

He chuckled, his tongue pressed between his teeth in a wicked smile. "It is rather a matter of a more intimate nature," he said with a childlike and mischievous confidence, pushing her forward to have her walk on legs that were handicapped by the heaviness of his spell.

She felt her limbs respond with clumsiness, moving as one of those characters from creepy stop motion movies, but his grin widened as she approached, until the front of her legs touched the inside of his thighs, and he had to hold her neck to avoid her head from flopping back.

There was a tingling warmth in the numbness, one that soothed her, and she wanted to tell him it was better to keep her that way, otherwise she would have done _something_. And then it clicked; she realized he did it to play with her. It was a way to torture her, to bind her because he knew she wanted this as bad – if not worse than him. She knew it had to do with his magic. It was not okay to feel the way she felt sometimes; it was no longer a need, but it would escalate to pain.

Also, there was that other matter. Darcy felt it was almost natural to stay hours and hours next to him, when she had always been the one who would tire of people and push them away. In each other's company, they were able to stand in perfect silence without feeling uncomfortable. And then, when they touched, even when they bodies happened to brush against each other, the air between them would turn into electricity and everything they had tried to tame would unleash.

It was then that they were interrupted by the door being opened.

"A word, brother," Thor said, standing in the frame.

Darcy had never seen someone's expression go from blissful to murderous so quickly. She wanted to laugh, but her tongue still felt like a dead slug inside her mouth.

"Your timing is most unfortunate," Loki said, staring into the girl's eyes, feeling as if something like magnetism stopped him from looking away.

"It is Darcy whom I wish to speak to, Loki," Thor clarified.

"Then do so, by all means."

"Alone."

Loki sighed, putting one palm against his forehead.

Darcy felt the weight of the spell leave her, but she remained still, feeling the frustration and anger return, fill her like water breaking through a dam. So still was she, in fact, she was quivering. He sensed her gathering her courage, pushing away reason to punch him in the chest. Loki even stepped back at the impact, granting her the satisfaction of a small victory. She punched him again, hating how he showed no signs of being in pain. He laughed at his stubborn efforts all the same.

"I doubt yours is half this spirited," Loki said as he walked outside, bumping his shoulder against Thor's.

"That's far enough," Thor said, signaling to the guards to keep an eye on his brother.

Loki raised both palms, and hung his head as he walked backwards, obeying the command of the God of Thunder.

"Has my brother mentioned the reason why he took you here, Darcy?" Thor stood at the side of the desk.

Darcy sat down again, shaking her head. "Nope," she lied out of impulse. Somehow, telling Thor he knew Loki had taken her because there was no other choice felt like giving him away. If he had left her behind, she would have lost her mind. It was that simple. "I was hoping he did it to help me, but this is Loki we are talking about. There's a big chance he only did it to screw with that head of yours."

"But he shared with you the existence of a bond?"

"No." She wanted to know, and _how_ she wanted an explanation, but she didn't want to hear it from Thor. "Look, I know it must be _really_ important, but let's just not, okay?" She pinched her nose for a second, closing her eyes, faking a headache. Thor scowled at her refusal. "Just, listen, I'm sure he did something strange to save me, like he probably had to jump-start my ass with Frankenstein juice and whatnot, but let's just leave it at that. We can't go back now, so why don't we do our best to work with what we have right now? Mainly, me being alive and not wanting to be tossed into the eternal flames of some shithole pit that belongs to the goddess of death."

"Uh, yes." Thor's scowl deepened, and he lost all eloquence for half a minute. "He attempted not only to… uh," he paused, wanting to rephrase her statement, "revive you by using magic. He used his own life force."

"There you have it, there you go. More hocus pocus shit. _Oooh_." She raised both palms, faking a panic attack. "What's your point, Goldilocks?" She wanted to end the conversation, but there was a small part of her that wanted to finally know, and it was really nagging at her.

"Loki is one of the most powerful masters of magic in all the nine realms, but he is incapable of reading minds, Darcy, and it has been long hence, since that day he was imprisoned in that glass cage, that I witnessed him able to read your thoughts." Even without his hammer, Thor gestured with his fist in the air like he was blandishing it.

Darcy grew serious. "Okay, see? That's _exactly_ why I didn't want you telling me anything. Now I'm freaking out. Too many people inside me, and I'm not really okay with that." _Lies_. She was very okay with Loki being inside her, in any sense of the word. They belonged to one another, when neither of them belonged anywhere else.

"But you are able to be inside him as well, Darcy Lewis." She stifled a laugh at this. "You are also capable of entering his mind."

"Nope, I don't think I am." She crossed her arms, rather defiant; she wanted to piss off Thor for no good reason. "No, nevermind that. I don't think I want to."

Thor insisted, making even greater gestures, "But tis' truth, Darcy! Loki is a master in many things, the art of lying and disguising are his greatest talents. He has the ability to keep you out of his thoughts." Thor had sounded almost euphoric when voicing this truth, so it seemed he had come up with it all by himself; it was a shame Darcy didn't want to hear any of it. "There is a part of you that has merged and become one. That was the real price to pay for your life."

It gave her pause to finally hear it, but she raised her chin, proud and reluctant. "Well, what are you asking me to do? You want me to manipulate him into becoming one of the good guys?" She laughed mockingly. "Maybe we should start with trying to make him admit he was in the wrong when he attempted to conquer an entire planet. Baby steps, Thor, baby steps."

"I would be pleased to see a change in my brother, but you are not strong enough to guide him. And there is no time for you to muster that strength." Thor let his arms fall to his sides, calming himself. "You must have him break that bond," he said after a long pause.

_And bleed inwardly_, Darcy suddenly thought. She imagined that thread around her heart being tugged at until it snapped. The thread, as if made of fine gold, would cut her heart in two as if slicing butter. The memory of death came crashing down on her. Blood gushing out of gashes, red and red, so much red it was black, and black overtook her vision as she shakily exhaled dying breaths. She blinked, remembering Loki's blue eyes gazing upon her with disgust and irritation. She knew he was a hypocrite for still thinking her beneath him, but not denying himself the desire to kiss and hold her as if amazed by his good work. She had become his Pygmalion.

"Odin will act in your favor, Darcy," Thor continued, his words taking her back to reality, "but he won't tolerate scorn, tis' what Loki will try to embed in you. He will have you take his side and refuse the Allfather's help."

"Your dad has made it perfectly clear he doesn't want me here." Now Darcy was confused. "What makes you think he wants to help me?"

"You must renounce this alliance with my brother, and show the Allfather your motives are not against his wishes." Darcy said nothing, but Thor was bent on making her see the plain truth, one that was so glaringly obvious; he was made angry by looking at the girl's skeptical expression. "Loki won't renounce you."

"Oh, I see." Darcy stood up. She had had it with Thor and Loki reminding her of her own weakness and uselessness every single chance they got; she was done with their condescending attitude, and no one was telling her what to do, not even the mighty Thor. "So you just want me out of the picture. I know you think since I'm not strong enough to change him, then I'm definitely a bad influence. I'm sorry if I don't feel in the mood for one your speeches right now, Thor, but I'm pretty shaken myself. Everyone seems calm and okay, and don't you get it? I have no idea what's gonna happen to me. I don't know what your dad's going to decide, and it's not like I have a chance to appeal." She widened her eyes so much Thor actually took a step back, all too scared by her increasing anger. "I didn't ask for _this_. I'm terrified and the last thing on my mind right now is this bond or whatever I have with Loki. All I want is my old, boring life, and Loki, _well_, he's the only one who seems willing to help me get that. I know it must sound insane to you, but I have to trust him."

"I love my brother." Thor squared his shoulders, and leaned forward, trying to intimidate her as she had done so. "I believe in his redemption, and I rejoice in the hopes that the hour shall come when he sheds all the hate and becomes as he once was, but I would be a fool if I were to lay down my weapons and trust him blindly. You must, too, have a defense against his trickery, for he will use your innocence against you. Know this, he never acts without a purpose, and it would come a day when you are either prepared for deception or you become the victim."

Thor wasn't helping the situation. His little sermon was just making her angrier. She decided to hit low. "You must think us humans really helpless. Are you really planning on marrying Jane? What does daddy has to say?"

"Jane must complete an ordeal, one given to her by the Allfather." Thor scowled, letting his guard down, distracted by the sudden change of topic.

"A test by immortals," Darcy exclaimed, smiling. "That's just _so_ doable. So you're saying you're putting Jane, the woman you supposedly love, through some holy hell so she can prove she is _worthy_ to marry you. Why, Thor, tell me why should I turn my back on Loki and expect the help of someone who can't even overlook the fact that his son's future wife is a mortal? If your dad won't cut Jane some slack, then I don't think he'd be all that willing to help me, the _other_ mortal girl who's banging his evil son."

"The Allfather's judgment is impeccable and impartial. Do not attempt to dishonor him with your presumptions and surmises."

"Why would she need to take a test, Thor?" She insisted, happy to see him as angry as she was. "She is a person, not some dog you're going to adopt."

"I see the seed of my brother's chaos has taken root in you, Darcy Lewis. You relish in sowing discord. Heed my words." He raised his index finger. "You must part with him. Sever the bond before it grows stronger."

"_Why_?" she breathed out, shaking her head. "He's the only one who has gone out of his way to keep me well and alive."

"He shouldn't have done so!" Thor roared, making Darcy jump. He sighed then, slouching. He continued in a more gentle voice, "Loki has tricked even those older than Odin himself, and you think yourself capable of seeing through his lies? You will fall prey to him."

"Maybe, but at least I'm pretty clear where I stand on this mess, so how about _you_ drop the macho attitude and deal with the fact that Loki and I are on the same boat?"

"So be it," Thor said, and left the room.

"Well?" Frigga asked once she saw Thor leave the room.

Thor didn't stop, instead he stomped away. The queen quickly scampered to catch up with him. "She refuses to see reason, mother. Her loyalty to Loki is steadfast."

"But of course," the queen agreed, smiling. "It was you who told me Loki saved this girl's life. She should be loyal."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Thor stopped in his tracks, quickly pushing out a sigh. "Loki will use this, mother. He cares not for her, I know it. He will take advantage of her humanity and use her against me and Jane."

"Now, why would he care so much for an alliance that has not taken place yet? Loki is one to hold a grudge, I see that now, but it does not seem likely that he would recur to the same tactic twice. The plan to hurt the mortal failed. He will move onto other things." She put one hand on Thor's shoulder, but he quickly shook away from the touch.

"As you wish me to, mother?"

"Thor, it is not like that," she insisted, looking at him affectionately. "You must understand. She _must_ be tested. This is unheard of, son. Surely, you can comprehend the gift of immortality and the burden of the throne of Asgard is not something anyone can bear. It is no easy task for a god. Just imagine we must accustom ourselves to the idea that a mortal woman should possess the strength required to lead and care for us all."

Thor's gaze fell. "What would happen if Loki decides to marry her? Would she also have to be tested?"

Frigga let out a laugh of skepticism, dismissing the whole thing as ridiculous. "Have faith in your father, Thor," she said in an encouraging tone. "He would never allow such a union. The bond will be broken and the girl shall return to Earth, her time with him forgotten. Loki will not weep over this, if you are right."

"No, but he is capable of so many just to oppose father. To marry a mortal just to defy him, I know him capable of going that far."

"Loki is to face punishment," she said, resigned. "All will be well, you will see."

Alone once more, Loki stood by the doors as they closed behind him. Darcy walked the great distance from the desk to the bed, and sat on the mattress. He did the same thing. They sat side by side, thighs touching in a parallel line. So they became accomplices again.

"That was one interesting talk," she said.

Loki snorted. "I doubt anything Thor may say can be considered remotely interesting."

"Don't act like it doesn't annoy you when he acts all, like, you know, high and mighty. High and mighty, my ass." She rolled her eyes.

"Certainly," said Loki, straining his neck to stare at her lower back.

"Stoppit," she complained, slapping him slightly on the arm. "How and why Jane ever fell for him, I'll never know." The mention of her once dear friend filled her with a strange and nostalgic feeling, almost a void in her chest. "So," she quickly steered the conversation to the next topic, "how about that test, huh? The one your dad is putting Jane through. Sounds like a lot of bureaucratic bull. Customs might learn one thing or two from your dad."

"He is _not_ my father." Again, Loki felt Darcy's amnesia must be resurfacing; half their chats consisted in him repeating the same things once and again. "And, yes, it is not secret to anyone Odin is against the union of his precious heir to a mortal."

"Yes, thank you!" Darcy threw both hands in the air. "Even _I_ could see it, and I've been around the guy for, like, half a minute. Thor is so blind. This is obviously snobby dad trying to avoid his son from marrying the girl from the wrong side of the tracks."

"You become more incomprehensible with each hour that passes. I wonder whether losing your memories was not a cure and we should strive to perpetuate this condition instead."

"You are such a d-bag, Loki. That's one thing I'll never forget," she said in a sweet tone, patting him on the shoulder. "What is this test about anyway?"

He smiled wickedly. "A test impossible for a mortal to complete, of course. Even if your pathetic friend does succeed, Odin will have her tried once and again. He won't give up Thor so easily. He won't give up Asgard to a mortal."

"Can you help her?" Darcy asked lowly, playing with the hem of her dress.

"Why would I?"

"She _is_ my friend," she muttered, trying to subdue another fit of anger. "I don't want her to get hurt, or to die."

"She won't die," Loki said, squinting, confused at her stubborn attempts to nurture a relation for which Darcy cared so little anymore. Her affections had been erased along with her memory, and this show that she decided to put on, he knew it was because she didn't want to relinquish her humanity by ignoring a flame that was long gone ashes. To completely let go of her friends would mean Darcy cared for no one except for Loki, and what a disgrace that would mean to this insufferably sentimental girl. "She will fail," he continued, "and it will be as if nothing ever happened. Odin will show her some mercy yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I meant that," he said, already tired of explaining what for him was obvious, "when she fails, she will be tossed back to Midgard, her memories of her time spent with Thor erased."

Darcy felt a cold crept up her lungs. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to swallow the discomfort. She wouldn't wish that on anyone. "You can't let them do that."

"Oh, but I think I can." He lowered his voice to a murmur, that grin twitching the corner of his mouth. "And I shall enjoy it, watching Thor squirm and crawl."

"I don't care what happens to Thor," she cried, shaking her head. "I don't want Jane hurt. I want her out of this."

"You should really learn not to ask anything of me." He raised his hand to place it on her back, but stopped, letting the fingers curl inwards.

"You're the cruelest asshole I'll ever know, Loki," she said, straightening down the skirt of her dress with too much force.

"Oh, but I _saved_ your life."

"Did you?" She closed her eyes, and clicked her tongue, as in trying really hard to remember. "It does sound like something you did, but I'm not so sure. Maybe you should remind me of it another eighty times."

Loki snarled, looking to the side.

Darcy decided it was as a good time as any to address this doubt that kept bouncing back, no matter how many times she tried to push it away. She found that every time she thought of it, having them fell in a silence, the echo of their words still throbbing in her mind, she felt small and disconnected in some way, like she was nothing, but a pest that needed to die.

"Am I myself?" Darcy asked in a whisper, choosing honesty when everything in her told her to shield her feelings from the God of Lies. "I know I must sound crazy, but I… how can I know if I'm myself if I don't remember the old me?"

"You ignore how lucky is that you have forgotten your past, that it won't influence any course of action that you decide to take from now on. Your decisions won't be truncated by any sense of belonging, except, perhaps, by your own humanity." He snorted with an almost expression of disgust. "I should speak of your foolishness instead."

"See? This is what I mean when I say you are an asshole."

Loki brushed both hands down his face as he raised his chin; the fingers came to a halt when they reached the jawline. The dark spots under his eyes were almost a deep purple. "But if it concerns you so much, know that I did nothing to alter your character, or what you humans refer to as 'personality'."

"How can you tell? You didn't know me before this whole mess."

Loki lifted his eyebrows, and blinked slowly, really struggling with the fatigue. "I think I can assess my own powers to do my exact bidding. Quite different from your ability – or lack of it - to shape your ideas into words, but have them pass through your lips as…" He stopped, raising his fingers to her mouth.

"Stop it." Darcy flinched away from the touch. "You stop it with your sexual seduction business, mister. I know what you're trying to do. You put your hands all over me and I feel all fuzzy and warm. I'm having you know I'm not giving them any excuse to kick my ass back to Hel." She crossed her arms, turning her back to him.

"They don't have to know." He had his hands hover above her shoulders. His gaze was fixed intently on the straps of her dress and bra; he wanted to hook his thumb around them and pull them down to her elbows, expose her back, and press his cheek against her skin, listen to her heartbeat raise. "I will take you slowly." He noticed her shoulders raise, her figure become still as her breath caught. He brought a hand forward, letting it land slowly on her thigh just above the knee. Her muscles tensed under the touch, and she tensed, grasping the sheets, just to avoid moving at all. "I won't make you repress it, this ache," he said with anger, his nose wrinkling, "this-this need that burns you from the inside out." And, as if he had invoked it, her blood pumped faster and her skin became unbearably hot. She took one bundle of the front of her dress, her fist closing tightly, and she pulled, letting the cool air in. It wouldn't take her long to give in.

"No," she said, but did nothing to remove his hand on her. "It's not us. It's this stupid bond." Her voice rose, high-pitched, and she swallowed, feeling her throat closing in. "It feels as if we have to be…" her mouth closed and opened several times, "one," she concluded, out of breath.

"I will tell you a secret." He moved his hand, slowly slipping his fingers between her closed legs, plunging them up to his knuckles. She looked to the side, mouth opening at his nerve; he looked at her profile, his eyes caught in the curves of her lips as he moved his hand upwards, slowly, sensing the flesh becoming hotter as he neared his goal. "This is no magic. Do not believe his words. He only tries to draw reason from something that is chaotic." The side of his index finger came in contact with her underwear, and Darcy let out a shuddering moan, and clutched at his wrist with both hands. She became rigid, but then let go, settling her own hands back on the bed. "They will deny it, because they do not think it possible. They fight for forbearance, and reject their impulses. They are incapable of simply letting go," he whispered in her ear, and pressed his finger against her mound, smiling, pleased to feel the moisture soak through the material.

"Stop it," Darcy snapped, standing, walking away, and brushing her hands up and down her arms. She paced incessantly, biting the tip of her thumb.

"So you continue to baffle me." Loki also stood up, but only made act of removing the metal of his attire, strip himself down to a long-sleeve shirt that clung tightly to his lean form. "Where is the advantage in resisting when you so obviously desire this? Would it gain you honor? Lying with a god could not be the worst of your mistakes."

"No, I guess you are right," she happily agreed, "but fucking the guy who declared war on my world is."

"It is not your world anymore," he snarled, and Darcy smiled, anticipating a good fight; it had been long since their last fight and she definitely needed to vent a little steam, and nothing worked better than to quarrel with the God of Lies. "You belong to Midgard no more. You lost your friends and family to one of Thor's many reckless acts. You do not belong here either. Your association with me will result, naturally, in every Asgardian casting you out. Death holds claim to you, and it was the mercy shown to you by me, the God of…"

"Spare me, Loki," Darcy interrupted him. "It's always the same with you. I seriously doubt you can know anything about pain and suffering when you were brought up as a privileged prince in a city made of gold, eating ambrosia and shitting diamonds. This is first-world problems at its finest." She put both fist in her hips, and puffed her chest, then, making her voice deeper, said: "Oh-oh, so Thor's my dad's favorite. I must go blow shit up then to prove myself above everyone else and they will proclaim me king of this universe. Logic fail. I thought you were supposed to be the brightest cookie in the bunch." She was aware that she was near screaming and the guards outside were having one hell of a field day.

Quickly, Loki marched towards her. Darcy ran to the desk, picking up the heavy book from the floor to hold it at arm's length, shielding herself with it. Loki saw her struggling with the weight of the volume, and his anger dissolved; he let out a sigh, turning around to sit on the bed.

Only when Loki collapsed, resting across the bed, she placed the book on the desk, but didn't move. He had his eyes closed, but she knew him too well to risk coming closer.

"I guess that was just uncalled for. I'm sorry," Darcy offered, showing her teeth in an apologetic grin. She leaned her weight from one foot to the other without moving from her spot next to the desk. "I know nothing about anything and you're probably right." She laughed, shrugging. "I don't have a home anymore. I lost all my friends and family, and the only chance I'll get to see them again is if your dad lets Thor marry Jane, but we both know that's impossible." She walked to the bed. Loki had his eyes open, looking at her. "All I'm asking you is not to piss off your dad so he can let me come back." He blinked in that artificial manner of his, and she grunted, knowing he was being apathetic to piss her off. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life rotting in some cell, alone, millions of miles away from everything."

Darcy put a knee on the mattress, and crawled to position herself by his side. She lay next to him, pressing her temple against his shoulder. Whenever they touched, he was always so warm, feverishly warm; his form was dense and solid, an immutable totem of safety. She marveled, having put a hand flat on his chest, at its rising and falling; somehow, she didn't think he needed to breathe at all.

"How long before we know?" she asked.

"I ignore it. The Allfather's punishments are meant to teach a lesson." His eyes fluttered closed as he spoke.

"So he's one of _those_. Can't believe you didn't try to act out and conquer stuff before." He laughed and her head bobbed with the movement.

"You should rest," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

"You are the one who can't even keep his eyes open."

"It has been what feels like centuries," he licked his lips, "since I last..." And, with that, Darcy felt his entire body become soft, his breathing slowing to an almost stop.

Darcy propped herself up in one arm to look at him, indignant that he could fall asleep in the middle of their very important conversation. His face, unmoving, it looked carved in wax. She pressed a finger to the tip of his nose, and pushed, flattening it as a pig's, and he didn't even stir. The Asgardian naps were the equivalent to a coma, apparently.

"Might as well." Darcy shrugged and, taking advantage of his state, rested her cheek on his chest. He didn't strike her as the kind of guy who would spoon in bed with anyone, but it wasn't as if he would mind; it didn't look as if he was breathing anymore. "I really hope you aren't turning into some kind of cocoon."

Knowing humans were in constant need of food - as Thor had confirmed when telling the tales of his days as a Midgardian - and in need of an excuse to talk to her son, the queen came by Loki's room again. She froze at the sight. The shock of seeing Loki lying with another, be it god or human, erased all thought from her mind. No, of course the girl's origins did put a weight on the impression. That was a human girl that was ruffling Loki's hair, chuckling as she did so.

Loki rested like he did in those days when he was no more than a child and would sleep on her lap, blissful and oblivious, peaceful, hate not twisting his fine features as it would gradually do each day that passed, as he became aware of the very reality: he was not to be crowned king. Oh, but he would always be her prince, the queen thought. She smiled, and the girl gasped in surprise, turning a pink that quite became her.

The mortal girl ignored, of course, and so did Thor, that Loki did communicate very little through his words. Though he was well known as having a 'silver tongue', he rarely spoke to express what he really felt or thought. His actions, silent and seemingly void of meaning to others, spoke volumes to her, being his mother. And the queen needed only gaze at the pieces of his armor scrambled on the floor. Loki slept at the complete mercy of this girl, unguarded and unprotected.

Darcy stopped immediately, hiding both hands behind her back. She forgot to breathe for a moment when she took notice of the queen; the room felt devoid of oxygen, actually. She couldn't find any words to describe the queen's graceful air and beauty; she was simply unreal.

"Your majesty," a guard whispered to her, wanting to get her attention, "a decision has been reached."

She hushed the guard, raising her finger to her lips. "Not now."

"It is imperative, my queen," the guard insisted.

"Isn't it always?" she asked, commanding for the doors to be closed once more.

* * *

Back from hell. Posting this as a shout-out for betas. I've written to several but they just don't answer. Y U NO WANT TO WORK WITH ME BETAS. As soon as I find one that wants to take on the job, hey, I'm posting the rest. I just really need an outside opinion. Really need it.

R&R~ Tell me what you think so far.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: unbetaed! And sex also (finally).

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Darcy stretched, and noticed how none of her limbs quite reached the end of the bed. It was then that she remembered she was not on Earth anymore, but had been kidnapped by Loki and was now sleeping on his gigantic bed where they had shared a wet dream two days ago.

"Fuck my life," she spoke to the ceiling, letting one hand fall on her stomach. She heard a soft rustling, like fabric against fabric. "Loki?" she called out, scowling. "I'm starving here. D'you think we could we enjoy one last meal before your dad throws both our asses – Holy shit!" she screamed at the intrusion of a curious face in her field of vision.

She scattered, pushing herself away with her hands and feet until her back hit hard against the headboard. The thud had been followed by dead silence. She glanced around, taking into the multitude that gathered around the bed, all eyes staring at her without blinking, almost unnatural in their fixation.

Darcy opened her mouth, knowing well enough she couldn't say anything; talking seemed like an ability she had suddenly lost to the impression. She folded her knees, tucking her legs underneath her, and pulled at the dress to cover as much skin as possible; she put an arm across her chest, knowing well enough she wasn't wearing her bra anymore and the light fabric of the dress did nothing to shield her from the exposure.

One to her right laughed, and Darcy's head turned quickly, her eyes searching for the source of the noise. Then it was someone to her left that whispered.

She hugged herself, looking at the dozens of figures clad in golden and wide blue eyes looking at her. They were unmoving, almost lifeless, and she found this terrifying and unsettling; it was something in their stillness, like beasts about to attack. And yet, they looked so fascinated by her.

"Uh, Loki?" Darcy called out with a shaky voice. At the sound of her plea, the multitude seemed to lean over her, hands reaching out to grab at her hair and clothes to feel the texture and the softness of her skin, hands that wriggled under her dress and up and down her arms and legs. "Loki!" she screamed, standing on the bed as she frantically batted the hands away.

She looked beyond the gathering; a head full of jet–black hair pushed through the river of yellow and light chestnut. They parted and stepped back, eyes now betraying shock, fear and some few disgust.

As Loki extended her arms in Darcy's direction, beckoning the girl to come closer, a god, a beautiful man with reddish hair, took a step forward, no doubt one of those that dared look down on the God of Lies. "You have no authority here, Loki Laufeyson," he spat out, glancing at the addressed from head to toe, a smug grin on his face. A quiet agreement seemed to form at his statement as hushed whispers and heads nodding were the general response.

"You would do good to remember you don't command us no more, Fallen Prince," another one added, encouraged by the positive but silent reaction from his peers. "We bow in your presence no longer."

"I'll as soon bend the knee at the remains of your dead father and whore mother," the first one said. "They, unlike you, have never betrayed their own people."

"But what is there to say about giants?" the other one said then, now smiling. "They possess not an ounce of intellect." The entire crowd erupted into a potent chorus of laughter at this, making Darcy jump. "They ally with those who favor them, and declare war on those who oppose them. Perhaps you did well in changing your ways, Laufeyson."

"Fallen from grace."

"Ungrateful one."

"Now you lie with mortals."

And the insults kept coming.

Darcy looked around, at their smiling faces; all but the face of Loki showed delight. The black–haired god remained quiet, stoic and aloof, his face a mask carved out of stone. But she knew – whether it was due to _this_ connection – of the rage welling up, mounting as if emitted a deafening ring and an anger that was hot red and throbbed like an open cut. If anyone else dared say something else, Loki would snap.

"If the king were not half wasted by old age, he would be wise enough to see reason and throw you and your dark–haired harlot in the dungeons," said the first instigator as he approached Loki, his mouth mere inches from his ear as he continued. Darcy cringed, half embarrassed and half frightened, as Loki was whispered something she could not quite hear. "I heard mortal women are given to lie with whoever pays them any courtesy. Once you are chained and unable to do anything, I will ride her before your very eyes, Loki Laufeyson. Yes, I shall her ride more often than I ride my own horse."

Loki didn't move, yet the god standing next to him seemed stricken by something. His face twisted in pain, and his skin reddened. Stumbling backwards, he brought both hands – fingers wriggling as if he was playing imaginary piano keys – to his throat. He gasped, and struggled, but couldn't breathe.

Darcy quickly put her hands on Loki's shoulders as his own encircled around her waist; he had her descend gently on the cold floor. Now, she looked up at the tall figures, every one towering over her small stature, yet they stepped back in fear.

"Out," commanded Loki, sounding dismissive and bored.

Everyone trampled and pushed to leave the room, barely sparing one last glance of horror at the choking god whose face had become almost purple. He started to punch himself in the chest, and the pounding – as the clangs of a clock – made Darcy start.

"Stop it," she whispered. "Stop _this_," she asked in a louder voice, but still too low to compete against the wheezing coming from the suffocating god.

Darcy knew that she had witnessed this scenario before, had seen Loki hurt someone the same way. She knew Loki had erased it, but she couldn't feel betrayed. He had done a lot of things to her – things she would never come to know and that he claimed were for her own good – and this blank in her memory, as she tried to account for the feeling of terrible _déjà vu_, was also his doing. She could have tried with all her might, but she would get nowhere. Trying to remember would always leave her exhausted, but trying to remember something he had erased left her frustrated and angry, like she had been facing another dead end after taking endless turns in a labyrinth.

"And," Loki said, releasing her to stand in front of the offender, "you would do good to remember I still have Odin's favor. He will as soon perish than withstand disrespect towards one he considers his own son. As for Laufey's remains," he said, turning to look at Darcy, gauging the expression in her eyes, before resuming his talk, "I fear there are none. I made sure of that." He smiled, shrugging in a playful manner. "From now on, you bow down before me."

"Stop it," Darcy asked one last time. Of course, she took no pleasure in the pain of others, even those who wanted to damage her.

Loki sighed, looking at the ceiling in annoyance. He lifted the spell, and the god, free then, inhaled and coughed, tumbling backwards to leave the room.

A couple of maids cried out in surprise at the man running out, quickly stepping to the sides to avoid from dropping the trays they were to carry inside.

"Why did you do that?" Darcy said. Loki didn't answer. She huffed, permitting herself to be a little angry now that the unpleasant memory wasn't being invoked anymore. "It was horrible. It's horrible when you do stuff like that."

"Ah, sentiment," he simply said, smiling proudly. "In your case, it is more of an ailment."

Darcy just shook her head. She went to the bed, and fumbled through the sheets, trying to find her bra.

"Might I help you, m'lady?" one of the maids asked, approaching Darcy.

Darcy's head whipped around; she pointed at the woman, her eyebrows rising in joy as she looked at Loki. He blankly stared back at her. "What did you just called me?" she asked, grinning. The maid was terribly confused.

"Pardon me, m'lady?"

"Oh, I'm gonna need some coffee. Black, lots of sugar, please. No?" she said, resigning when she realized the maid had no idea what she was talking about. "There's no coffee here." She laughed without humor. "You call yourselves gods and you have no coffee?"

"My apologies, m'lady," the maid offered.

"Oh, please do have bacon," Darcy said to herself, quickly walking to the table they had set in the middle of the room that she hadn't noticed before.

It wasn't a long table, but a pair of maids stood at each end, waiting. Dozens of golden dishes were pressed one against the other, covering almost the entire surface. Darcy gave a turn about it, gazing at the bowls of food displaying steaming pieces of juicy meats, mountains of fresh fruit, cauldrons with hot porridge and soup and a huge crystal pitcher of red wine. She laughed, putting a hand on her mouth.

"You are a prince," she simply announced, loud enough for the whole staff to hear. "This is just offensive," she breathed out, walking around the table. Her mouth hung open in awe.

Not taking into the magnitude of her surprise, Loki was leaning over a basin, splashing water on his face; he rubbed at the skin, and brushed his fingers down his hair, pushing it back. Darcy noticed there was another one for her; she approached the basin, looking at it with curiosity. One of the maids nodded at her, extending her hand to offer her a white cloth.

"Oh, this gotta be a joke." Darcy leaned over the water, plunging his fingers in it. She splashed her face, gasping and closing her eyes in delight as she felt the coldness. Once she was done, she had spilled water all over the floor and over her dress. She wanted to apologize for making a mess, but noted how the maids, four of them in total, showed no reaction at all. Out of impulse, Darcy pushed the basin, throwing it off the table. She put a hand on her mouth to hide a smile. "Whoops," she said, shrugging. They still said nothing. "You are a prince," Darcy confirmed, watching as the maid simply got on her knees to pick up the basin.

Once she sat by the dining table, she noticed how the bowls were stacked up so high with food they completely covered her line of vision, preventing her from looking beyond. "I'm pretty sure I'll have to work my ass off for the next 30 years to pay off my student loans and you," she suddenly stopped to laugh some more, "you sleep on sheets made of gold, your room looks like the freaking Sistine Chapel, you don't get to age, never, and this." She signaled to the food. "Do you even eat? Have I seen you eat?" She made a pause to remember. "I don't think so, no. How is any of this fair? Why are they serving you this truckload shit of food when you–" She sighed, shaking her head.

The maids sniggered, hiding their smiles behind the trays, quite entertained by the girl's foul language and her familiarity with someone that had a propensity to choke those who offended him.

"They have already reached a decision," Loki said louder than necessary to hush the sniggering. He tapped on the brim of a glass goblet, and one of the maids poured him a glass of wine.

Darcy decided it was the strangest thing to watch him drink anything at all; it made him seem almost thirsty (human) when he gulped down the wine.

Loki walked over to the end of the table where she sat, and Darcy felt a change in the room. The maids became rigid, looking down as he approached the mortal. This was the behavior that was expected of them when serving the son of Odin.

"It is a shame," he said, brushing one knuckle up her neck, recovering a droplet of water that had slid down. She made an obvious effort not to shudder. "I hoped we might have more time." He raised the finger to his mouth, sucking on the moisture. He smiled when she blushed, and sat next to her.

Loki sat with total liberty, resting his head and back fully against the chair. He made no act to eat, and this made Darcy feel self-conscious. She was ravenous; she could eat all of it by herself and then ask for dessert. With half-lidded eyes, he looked at her trying to contain the impulses. She waited, tambouring her fingers on the table while looking around with wide eyes. He smiled, and gestured with an open palm to the entire length of the table.

"Do they have to stand there the whole time?" she asked in a whisper, not wanting to be heard out of consideration. Everything in Loki's demeanor told Darcy he thought nothing of these women; they were there to serve and be useful.

Loki stared at her, dumfounded. "_Yes_. It is what they do," he answered, sounding fed up.

Darcy grew serious, and looked down, her small fingers playing with the hem of her dress. She nodded slowly.

Loki sighed, and looked up, muttering something under his breath. With a movement of his hand, he dismissed the maids. Darcy was beside herself with joy; she beamed and stretched her neck to place small kisses on his cheek, whispering _thank you_ a dozen times. If she was staying for some time, she might as well abolish slavery and promote equality for all citizens of Asgard. "Doesn't it feel nice to be good sometimes?" she asked, and pressed her lips to his jaw.

He looked grumpy while withstanding the demonstration of affection. "I know of your gratitude." He brushed his knuckles down her back as she settled her head on his shoulder. "As long as you do not start jumping off buildings."

"_And_ that's how you kill the mood," she said, wriggling on the chair to sit upright. Ten minutes later, she was a different person. She could enslave an entire race if it meant she could keep eating those delicious mutton ribs for the rest of her life. Hell, she could jump off a building if she got to eat those mutton ribs on her way down. "Oh, this is heaven," she said with her mouth full of food. She bit down on the meat, and the juices washed over her tongue, and she moaned and gasped like they had just invented sex in food form and she became the biggest culinary slut.

It was indecent and lewd. There simply was no other way to put it, Loki thought. Indeed, the privacy did wonders to Darcy's appetite, so it was good that the maids were dismissed. Loki feared Darcy could embarrass anyone with the noises she was making. She could not eat in company.

She chewed on a slice of cheese as a raceme of grapes hung from her other hand. She moaned and sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. She only stopped eating to swallow it all down with wine, and, as she gulped down the last of it, she gasped like she was breathing for the first time.

"It must be 11 a.m. somewhere," she said, raising the pitch to pour herself another glass. "Food has never made me cry before, but this might be the first time," she said after tasting the lamb. "Hey, is Ambrosia, like, a real food? Can I some if it is?" And she just rambled and ate away.

Darcy hardly needed input at the moment. She was incoherent and unstoppable. Her lighthearted delight was very contagious. Loki found he was not jealous by seeing her happy, only pleased, though mildly, mind you. He would always be annoyed or jealous in some way whenever Thor was happy, but then his brother was so proud and conceited. Darcy could hum and laugh and smile and Loki couldn't find anything wrong with it.

"What?" Darcy mumbled with her mouth full as she noticed his expression of content. He shook his head, and leaned forward to place his lips upon her shoulder.

From his position, he could gaze down the veil of her neckline and into the curve of her breasts; they moved as the girl reached with her hands for the food. He pressed his cheek against her shoulder, and remained there, watching the rise and fall with each breath, the tightening of the fabric when she inhaled, her throat contract as she swallowed.

She brought the tips of her fingers to wrap them around her lips, cleaning them off with one popping sound. She gulped down the wine as if it was water, licking the corners of her mouth with a tongue already tinted with a deep purple. Her cheeks oozed a heat that increased with each cup that she drank. The path from cheekbone to cheekbone, up and down the contours of her pretty nose, was then painted in a blush that he no doubted would also appear on other parts if he caressed them enough.

"I fear you put us in shame, my son," said the queen.

Loki straightened quickly, the back of his head hitting the back of the chair. He had been caught off guard. He didn't even notice when his mother had entered.

"You won't part this girl's side as if we were to cause her harm. What would you have her believe?" the queen said, waltzing gracefully until she stood by them. "I am Frigga, the queen," she said matter-of-factly. She was wearing an impressive garment; it glimmered as if completely covered with thousands of small diamonds; it had a high neck and long sleeves, which showed her lean, elegant limbs and figure.

Darcy gaped for some seconds while still holding that huge raceme of grapes; she slowly put it down on the table.

"Oh, there is no need, please," Frigga said, putting one hand up to stop Loki from standing up. His son obeyed, lowering his head to keep it that way for the rest of the meeting.

"It's a pleasure," Darcy said. She turned to find Loki's head hanging low. She smiled awkwardly. She felt like such an idiot. "I've never met a queen in my life," she let it slip, feeling embarrassed at the sound of her own trembling voice. Also, she had sounded like a chirpy, excited fan. "Uh, I guess I should…" She put both hands on the armrests as if to stand up.

"I already said it was not necessary," the queen said curtly, yet her voice was gentle. "Though I've heard there are a few queens and kings in Midgard. Don't they make themselves available for consultations with those less fortunate?"

Darcy didn't know whether to take the queen's tone for condescension. After all, she was _the_ queen of gods; it was expected she should act a little rude and entitled to those with a shorter lifespan and who weren't nobility. "Well, no. Basically their role now is to avoid their nudes from getting published on the tabloids," she said, letting out a laugh that gradually died as her embarrassment increased.

"Ah, yes. We shall understand one another in no time," the queen said, raising her brows. That had definitely been condescending of her. "How are you settling in? Is the accommodation to your liking? I hope, as you, it will be a short stay. You must be impatient to return to your family and friends."

Darcy cleared her throat. "_Yeah_, it might be a little more complicated than that." The queen nodded, as in demanding the subsequent explanation, and Darcy felt the words crashing at the back of her mouth, struggling to come out all at the same time. Truly, it was a long story that didn't present Loki under the best of lights. She didn't want to hurry his punishment and, with that, her own chances of working out a deal. "Just, you know." Darcy fell silent after that, glancing to the side while the queen kept staring at her.

That had to be the most awkward moment of her life, with Loki refusing to talk at all, not rescuing her from her mother's passive-aggressiveness, and Darcy's own lack of bra. Yes, she was practically flashing the queen of gods. It couldn't have been worse even if they had been caught in the middle of having sex, which had sounded like from the appreciative comments that Darcy was making minutes ago. At least the surprise of witnessing them pounding away would have made the queen turn on her tracks.

The awkward pause had gone on for so long, Darcy wanted to laugh, and she pressed her lips together, letting the chuckles escape through her throat as repressed coughs. Combined with her dirty thoughts, it was like a game of whoever laughed first would lose. She let out the most ill-sounding fit of coughs.

"Yes, well," the queen said, picking on the atmosphere. "They have reached a decision already. Do not worry, Loki." Her expression softened and her voice lowered. "The king will make act of present in no time. Do your best not to anger him, my dear." Loki didn't answer. "A pleasure," she said with a smile, announcing the conclusion of their chat. "Please, don't," she said again when Darcy tried to stand up. "And, Loki, please do something with your hair. You look… wild."

The tension did not dissipate until the doors closed, and Darcy let out a long sigh. "Well, that was terrible," she said. "Your mom now hates me, too."

Loki slowly raised his head; his lips were pursed and his eyes half–closed as if he was concentrating really hard.

"What is it?" she asked, picking on his change of humor.

She poured herself another glass of wine while waiting for the response. It never came, though, or rather more like it wasn't necessary. A guard appeared, announcing the presence of Odin himself, and Darcy choked on the wine. She choked _bad_; wine was dribbling down her nose and she saw no other option than to rub her face from side to side against the front of Loki's shirt.

He looked down at her, putting his hands up in surprise. When Darcy looked up at him, her nose was so red she looked like she had a terrible cold, and then there was the blush on her cheeks, and the drunken glimmer in her eyes. The whole thing was a mess; thankfully, Odin wasn't there to talk to her.

"Son," said Odin, not moving from his spot on the door, the underline of a command in his voice. Loki closed his eyes for some seconds, annoyed by the term, but quickly stood up to approach the king of gods.

Silently, Darcy lifted her feet off the floor, and eased her hands off the armrests. She brought her knees to her chest, hugging them. If one was to stand by the doorframe, they would see nothing but the tall backs of the chairs. Quiet and still were two things that she almost never was, but she surprised herself by being both at the same time. She looked to the side, pressing her head against the wooden back of the chair, and listened.

"What is your will with me, Allfather?" she heard Loki ask in a low voice.

Odin took his sweet time to answer, and Darcy almost felt tempted to take a peek and see whether he had simply bailed.

"Loki," Odin said, sounding rather out of breath to Darcy. Every word he uttered, it would cost him some effort; his voice sounded spent with age, raspy and deep. "You can be at no loss as to why I am here." Loki remained stubbornly silent, and Darcy felt like smacking him on the back of the head for not playing along, if only for her sake. "It is my duty, as your father and king of Asgard, to see that no offense committed by one of my sons remains unpunished. And, in light of recent circumstances," he made a pause, and Darcy cringed, knowing well enough he was alluding to her, "banishment, I fear, would result in an undesired effect," he concluded to inhale. "You, unlike Thor, would see this as fuel for your hatred towards us, your family."

"You forget, Allfather," Loki said, his voice laced with hate, "that I have already been cast out. Whatever lesson you wish to impart me through such punishment was already learned."

"Yes," Odin said, the affirmation lingering as the wheels turned. He made another long pause, before resuming, "it is my wish that you amend your wrongdoings, and make up for those that cannot be undone," he said, sounding detached, but not angry. "Before subjecting yourself to Asgardian justice, you must repay those you have faulted." Then he raised his voice for Darcy to hear. "It has been brought to my attention that this girl died at the hands of Thor during one of your encounters."

"He attacked her without provocation," Loki clarified harshly. Darcy bit her thumb, internally praying for Loki to keep his cool. "I had done nothing to merit for his fit of violence."

"And you saved her life, all too late," he said, putting an emphasis on the last three words. "Hela holds claim to her life. She has been trying, most persistently, to regain her hold on the girl's soul. It is strange that she should take an interest. Hela never had much inclination for mortal souls," Odin clarified for Darcy's sake. It had sounded to Darcy like he was expecting Loki to answer with a _yeah, I know, right?_ Yet none of that was obvious to her; it was classy of Odin to explain things for her. "But, I believe, she does this out of revenge. Have you wronged her, too, Loki?" The silence that followed was confirmation enough. "If it is your wish to free her, I give you leave to march to Niflheim."

Darcy tensed. She felt the hesitation at wanting to intervene and voice her opinion on the matter. Odin had made it sound all fancy and stuff, but she well damn knew he just told Loki to go to Hel.

"Then you shall return to Asgard to be tried for your offenses against Midgard and Jötunheim." Darcy shook her head, actually surprised the list of worlds Loki had terrorized was so short. "If you are successful, I will entrust Thor with the task of sending the girl back to Earth where she belongs. He is, after all, to bring her intended here, before us, so she can be tested. Such journey won't go to waste then."

"As you command, my king," Loki answered coldly. "When am I to depart?"

Odin didn't answer for a long, long time – long even for him. Darcy's eyes widened as she heard soft rustling and slow footsteps. She wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear behind a screen of smoke. She remembered that time when Loki threatened her with making her as tall as his thumb and, _yes_, she needed that right now. She was still as a statue when Odin paraded around the chair to stand before her.

Up close, Odin merely looked like a really old man in fancy clothes. His face and the visible portion of his neck were marked with deep wrinkles, and his hair and beard were shiny silver. With both hands behind his back and puffing his chest proudly, he studied Darcy with his good eye, the other being covered in a golden eye patch.

Small thing she was, Odin thought. She was neither tall nor graceful, but, when she relaxed and put her feet back on the ground, sitting straight, he found her to be rather buxom. Her figure had steep curves, quite reminiscent of an hourglass. Her hair was pin straight and brown, and fell, partly covering her cheeks, past her breasts. Yet, all this, and it was her mouth, slightly open in awe and of a deep red, which gave her a certain luscious air.

That she was attractive, Odin could recognize, but he was left speechless by his son's choice; he had expected to be gazing upon a lithe, proud woman, one that would purse her lips and raise her chin in scorn, but, instead, he was looking into wide, blue eyes full of fear.

"Hello," Darcy squeaked out, and Odin smiled, nodding as he came to understand something that quite escaped her.

"When am I to leave?" Loki repeated the question in a hostile tone. He strode to stand behind Odin, his glare intent on the back of his neck. "When?" he repeated.

"What?" Odin said, turning around to look at his son. Loki scowled. "Ah, yes. As soon as you see fit." He patted Loki on the shoulder, and went to sit next to Darcy, lacing his fingers together to have them rest on his lap.

"Uh, do you care for some wine?" Darcy asked. Odin nodded, and so she poured him a glass. She was still coming to terms with the fact that the king of all gods and her were sharing some quality time.

"How old are you, child?" Odin asked, after leaving the cup back on the table.

"Twenty… five?" She squinted, grinning. Odin nodded. "But the age of consent in America is 18, so it's all cool," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "If that was what you were thinking about… sir," she added. Loki covered his eyes with his hand. Only she had thought about _that_. Typical.

"And do you have any family, Darcy Lewis?"

"Yes!" she replied cheerfully. "My mom and dad, but they are divorced, which, I assume, doesn't exist here."

"What doesn't?"

"The whole divorce biz. It's sort of when you don't want to be married anymore and annul it."

"Yes. We have had those," Odin said, taking a glance at Loki. "Son, leave now. I wish to speak with this young lady."

Loki opened his mouth to refuse, but when he saw Darcy pleading with her eyes not to leave her alone with Odin, he smirked, and bowed, leaving the room.

Darcy expected a tumbleweed to come passing before them. Awkward, long silence struck again. When Odin finally spoke, she jerked, alert. She thought he had dozed off.

"It is of my knowledge that you and the woman my son intents to marry are friends," he said. He cleared his throat, and made another pause. Between the suspense and the low and deep ring of his voice, it was like talking to The Godfather. "I have decided to give them a chance, to have them prove that this, what they feel for one another, is not some ephemeral fancy. You must know by now that she is to be tested. Loki has told you a lot, Darcy Lewis. You and Loki share an aura of confidence that quite astonishes me. It is strong, galvanized by his magic and your own disposition." She felt the tugging of something unsaid, a _but_ that was left hanging, and she waited for the uncertainty to curdle into dread, knowing beforehand what Odin was about say. "You must part with Loki. Once he returns, you must bid him goodbye, demand that he no longer strengthen the bond you share. It is conditional upon this that I shall make good on my word and let your friend come so she can be tested." He left, pacing with a calmness that was borderline ridiculous.

When Loki entered the room, Darcy had suffered a transformation that he could not explain. He wanted to take her hand, but she flinched away violently, letting the cup of wine slip from her fingers. She looked at the shards with great urgency, shaking her head.

"So you are going," she said, brushing her hands on her dress to clean them off. "You're walking straight into the lion's den." She laughed, her body shaking with the force she put in it. She sounded angry and distressed, her voice reaching a high that verged on a cry at times. She was about to break. "But you are a god, of course, and I'm just a pitiful mortal. It makes me wonder why you're even doing this. I'll be death in 50 years, anyway. Don't!" he warned him when he tried to place a hand on her shoulder. "What was that thing that you said? If I'm so bold as to ask you that favor…" she was interrupted when Loki clasped a hand over her mouth.

It was hot iron, his fingers on her mouth. Loki bent down, his face lowering until they were looking eye to eye. He anticipated the fight before she started to scratch and slap his arm; she tried to throw her head back, slip away from the grasp, but his fingers were long enough and his grip hard enough to prevent that. She shouted against the palm, frustrated, until the muffled cry gradually died. She hyperventilated, her eyes glancing around wildly. When it became evident that he wasn't letting go, she willed herself to calm down.

"Did Odin say... something?" he asked, and she shook her head almost immediately. "What?" he asked, widening his eyes in a silent warning. "_What_ did he tell you?" He nodded to let her know he was letting her go. He had barely loosened the grip, when Darcy pulled away to shout insult in his face. His hand was back on her mouth before she could catch a breath. "Now, do you want me to read your thoughts?" He shook her head furiously. "The truth then."

When he took his hand away for good, Darcy gasped. "I can't," she wheezed. "I won't tell you, actually. I'm allowed to have secrets."

His mouth cringed in a snarl, but then he dialed back on the anger, and just sighed.

"Also, it's not like you tell me everything." She stood on the chair, taking it for a podium. "Maybe we should take a few minutes to start sharing our darkest secrets. Like, for example, that whole thing after I woke up. So you're adopted. What else is there?"

"Cease this nonsense," he said, taking her by the waist to have her stand next to the bed, away from the glass. "Don't," he said when she opened her mouth, and walked away.

"You're crazy, you know that," she shouted to his back. "If you pissed this death chick half as bad as you did us humans, you're dead meat, pal. We might as well be saying goodbye right now."

"May be so," he said, sounding calm and collected.

She raised her hands, palms up, as if imploring for the patience to deal with his frustrating attitude. "Then it's fine, I guess. It's totally fine, except for, you know, the whole freaking thing! You will die and I'll become insane."

Darcy looked at him. In black hair and black clothes, he was a stain against the gold. She gazed until the black started to merge and melt, like an oil painting sprinkled with solvent. She blinked, but nothing changed. The continuous flow of time became a slimy line and the moment stretched until it stopped. The sounds became deep blabbering in the background, like the music coming from a radio losing power.

Darcy felt pulled _into_ him. She arched her body forwards, feeling suspended in this rupture in which only she dwelt.

Thor was right, she realized; she could see into Loki's thoughts. She blindly tiptoed around the edge, before letting herself fall. The black stain enlarged to reveal a black depth behind, a cage of horrors for those who had the power to read minds. She swam past the darkness and rose above, emerging in a cave of grey and even rock. Reality broke the haze, like a stone shattering a window, when a hand gripped her wrist, and she opened her eyes, not knowing she have even closed them to begin with.

Loki was looking back at her, a glare that spoke of a hate that she refused existed within him. She winced when his grip tightened, and he let go of her, his mouth twisting in a snarl.

Darcy rubbed her wrist with her other hand, and feeling as fighting fire with fire, said, "It is okay when you do it, I see. Why? Is it because you're embarrassed to admit it? Your mother is disappointed in you, Loki, and it hurts you." His hand shot out to grab her, but Darcy knew a second before he would do it. She walked backwards, feeling some strange euphoria, her hands trembling with the afterglow of experiencing a new power. "The God of Lies has feelings," she mocked him. "But she's not your real mother," she said, scowling. "You're not just saying that. Odin's not your real father."

She knew well she crossed the line and was pushing forward, forward, where he allowed no one.

Loki pushed the heavy chair out of the way, knocking it over. With each step he took, Darcy felt her lungs becoming smaller.

She hastily climbed on top of the bed and stood with the back of her knees against the headboard. She was smiling; she felt a dangerous ecstasy running through her. He knees buckled and her hands trembled. "It feels… immense, infinite." She laughed, sounding borderline maniac. His hand shot out to grasp her leg, but she stumbled out of his reach again.

Darcy wanted to try something else. She only got one shot, and she wasn't even sure it would work. She stepped forward to let Loki take her by the ankle and pull her forwards. She fell backwards, bouncing on the bed. Quickly, she closed her eyes, imagining that familiar warmth spread through her fingers; she concentrated, picturing her hands holding stones heated by fire. She sat up, and put her hand on his chest, letting the warmth spread out, draining the will out of him. His flesh, a container of unlimited power and strength, became but a body for her to control, and she rejoiced, letting out a shriek of delight. But it didn't last long. His power to fight back was greater than hers.

With anger, he took her by the wrist and dragged her before the very table where she ate. He swung his free arm across the surface, knocking over every plate of food. The bowls bounced on the floor, their metal resounding like vibrating bells; and the crystal shattered, the shards scattering like fireworks; and the soup spilled, like a river, splattering her dress.

It was with the same anger that he took a handful of the white fabric, twisting and pulling until it tore apart. Darcy let out a sharp grunt in protest, holding at the tendrils of her dress, before Loki managed to yank it out and throw it across the room.

Darcy watched the bundle of fabric fall, like a ball of white fire, to settle delicately on the bed. Exposed, she went to cover herself, but he struggled to catch her arms as she trashed. Finally, he grasped both her elbows, pressing them against her sides.

"That is much better," he said, panting as if out of breath. Then he smiled as he saw her shudder, her knees trembling violently. His laugh died off as he leaned to kiss her breast, inhaling sharply, feeling the relief of a desire he wasn't aware was suppressing. He put both hands on her back, near the shoulder blades, and made her come closer. He pressed his nose on the space between her breasts, eyebrows knitting as if it hurt.

It was the cold of the table and the warmth of his mouth that made Darcy tremble, she repeated herself again and again. She cried out when his mouth closed around her nipple, teeth grazing the tip. Darcy didn't know what took over her when she slapped him hard across the face, but he was taken aback, and stopped, looking up at her.

Loki laughed, standing straight. He placed his mouth right on her ear and, putting his hand against the other cheek, pressed his lips harder against her skin. "I _know_," he whispered in a deep tone, pressing then his forehead against her temple. "I know what it feels like. Do you wish to have the power to command them all?"

Felling her throat very dry, Darcy swallowed to speak, but still her voice sounded hoarse and spent. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean." And he laughed away, always pressing her mouth against her cheek. "I speak of the power to conquer worlds, of the strength to control everyone and everything. You, a mortal, can rise above gods."

"No, no, no," she let out as a single word. As pliant as she was, he carried her to have her lie on the table. The euphoria had turned into a force too big for her to hold, and she was scared; she wanted the last of this power to leave her body, to be expelled before it could corrupt her determination and common sense. It did, and she found herself almost naked, lying on the hard table, like she just awoke from a dream. She propped herself up in one elbow, and looked around, mildly confused. It was gone, but she felt the aftereffect, like the tinge of dizziness after being on a rocking boat for too long.

She stared at Loki. He became just a man, slouching and with a serious expression. His hair was tousled, and his wiry physique wrapped in tight, tight black. Darcy nodded, and there was a prelude of upmost stillness when she could perfectly hear the control breaking like a twig snapping under incessant pressure.

They clashed like meteorites, and held for dear life. Darcy was vaguely aware that they hadn't their eyes closed as they kissed. He bit on her lip to control her, put her in place, but she refused and leaned away, just to return, wanting to take charge, sliding her tongue between his lips.

There was really no time for them to stop so they could completely disrobe, so a lot of pulling and tugging succeeded, which ended in ripping and tearing. She should have found it funny, the urgency with which they attacked Loki's shirt like it was burning his skin. He blindly searched for her underwear while kicking off his boots, and Darcy briefly felt the pain of the fabric digging into her skin, before it finally gave way and she was completely naked, at last.

There was a second when Loki did look down, contemplating his own excess of clothes, while Darcy chased his mouth with her own.

"What now, Loki? _What_?" Darcy asked, feeling out of breath and patience.

He smirked with his lips closed. He put some space between them to remove his shirt, and Darcy, expecting his form to be gaunt, was pleased to find his muscles defined and elongated.

It was most lewd the way she pouted, running her hands up his arms until they met around his neck. She then moved them downwards, her fingernails raking over the contours of his chest and stomach, and down, down, until they disappeared under the waistband of his pant. She opened her mouth and raised her brows in a gesture of pleasant surprise. "Found it," she said through a smile. She brushed her open palm down his length to wrap her fingers around it. She should have known he would be the dark, silent type always. His brows knitted as he opened his mouth slightly, but he didn't make a sound, except for the heavy breathing. She pecked him on the cheek, and hooked one foot around his waist to bring him closer.

He snapped out of it, and grasped her knees, bringing her to the very edge of the table. She laughed, mocking him, and squeezed hard enough to make him grunt. She became quiet when he put a hand on her hip to flip her over and have her lie on her stomach. She hadn't liked that at all, he could tell.

She kicked blindly, her sole connecting with his chest hard, making a hollow sound. "You're _not_ fucking me like I'm one of your slaves." She scattered forward to sit on the opposite end of the table. Her lips were pursed, and her nostrils flared.

"No," he agreed, pacing around the table. Her eyes were fixed on him, carefully intent on his movement. Loki brought a hand to her cheek, the thumb pressing across her parted lips. He felt like a maniac just by looking at her.

"Kneel then," Darcy asked in a shaky voice. He squinted, taken aback by her nerve, and removed his hand. "Kneel," she said louder and steadier, the command bouncing against the walls, filling the chamber with its echo.

She was on a power trip, the past euphoria returning, making her skin shake. When his knees bent, she let out a moan, and parted her legs, watching his head lower between her thighs.

Darcy lay down on the table, looking at the tall ceiling, her mouth open in soft moans as she felt his breath caress near her most intimidate spot. The anticipation welled up until she was sure he was teasing her. She was about to sat up and protest when she felt the tip of his tongue lick across the slit, and she became rigid, letting out an embarrassingly loud cry. She felt the tip of a finger pushing into her entrance, and she slapped him on the head.

"Just–just your tongue," she warned him. She lay down again, closing her eyes.

Wet and hot, the tip of his tongue pressed against her clit, and she grabbed his hair, pulling at it until she felt the scalp rise and press against her knuckles. She breathed out an encouraging whine, and he obeyed, pressing his open mouth against her. He made a swift circling motion, and she arched her back, feeling herself thrown over the edge.

Darcy would have to give him a golden star. He was amazing at it. He knew exactly where to put pressure: on the vicinity of her very center, as not to hurt her, nudging with firm and constant pressure. She started to move with his rhythm, rocking her hips, and parting her legs wider.

She felt the sweet numbness of an approaching orgasm tingle her toes, and she threw her head back, pulling his hair as if to tear it off his head. The acute warmth traveled upwards, up her legs, to pool on her belly. Her mouth opened in a mute cry, and she straightened her legs as she came, feeling the strain of the ecstasy taking a hold of her. It lingered, just to fade away in mitigating waves that make her body jerk ever so slightly.

Darcy sighed with delight, letting go of his hair slowly. She rolled to the side, bringing her knees closer to her chest. She panted, enjoying the remains of a sweet fatigue. "That was really, really good," he commended him. Loki put a hand on her thigh, and she grimaced. "Give me a second," she said happily. He snatched his hand away, rather angry, and she cackled. "Just a second, jeez!" she said in fake exasperation, sitting up lazily.

No wonder he was so angry. She could see his erection pressing against his pants, and she almost apologized, only refraining when she was sure this would anger him further.

With fingers still shaking, she reached for the front of his pants to undo the many buckles. "This is bullshit," she complained, and brushed her hands down the fabric to get rid of the sweat on her palms. "Okay, you do _that_." He cocked one eyebrow, and quickly unbuckled his pants.

While he was busy getting out of his pants, she swung her legs off the table and jumped on the floor. She enjoyed every second of his attention as she paraded to the bed, swinging her hips in a slow, flowing motion. She looked over her shoulder to see his mouth inches from where her ear just was. She hummed, and crawled onto the mattress.

If he intended to intimidate her by standing stark naked in front of her, he was dead wrong. She pouted, feigning indifference, and looked to the side.

"I do not appreciate you making a mockery of me."

"You don't?" She waggled her eyebrows, stretching her leg to touch the hard line of his erection with her toes. "What do gods appreciate?" She lightly stroked its length, up and down. He grasped her ankle with too much force, and she whined, complaining. "Not so hard now. Can't you do gentle and sweet?" she purred, cocking her head. When he tried to touch her, she flinched, shaking her head. "Uh, uh." She leaned backwards slowly, propping her weight in both elbows. She puffed her chest, and shook her head, letting her hair fall off her shoulders.

She let him stare. He looked entranced as he scanned her figure, from her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, down to her full breasts that raised and fell with every deep breath, and down, down to her inner thighs where he could clearly see the wet trail of his kisses.

Loki looked so utterly lost she erupted into laughter, throwing her head back, exposing the pale column of her neck. "Well, then?" she said, and tried to smile, but the gesture faltered, her lips trembling with desire as she saw his eyes getting darker. "Fuck me," she breathed out, her voice shattering the façade of her little game.

Darcy didn't know whether he did it because he was taking heed of her words, but he did take her gentle and slow. He descended on her, their stomachs pressing in a straight line, and their mouths coming together in a lingering kiss as he cradled the back of her head, his thumb caressing her scalp. His hardness pressed against her wetness, and Loki's lips retracted to show his teeth in a feral smile. She lifted her hips, trying to align herself with him, and looked blindly with her hand to guide him.

He barely pushed inside, and she felt closing in, her insides clenching due to the discomfort. "Stop, stop, stop," she quickly said.

"Yes," he said, halting to wrap his fingers around her neck as she looked up, her eyebrows knitting in pain.

The pressure felt immense, unbearable, and she slithered away to force him out, only to find that the pressure didn't go anywhere, it remained like a strange phantom. Perhaps she needed more than that minute.

"You are fucking huge," she whispered, eyes widening, as if she was telling him a really important secret. He thrust, making her open her mouth in a mute cry; he kissed her to stifle the sounds coming from it.

"It would be easier, heart," he whispered against her lips, "if you were not…" He scowled when she clenched around him. He exhaled a heavy, hot breath that washed over her face.

"What? Doing _this_?" she asked, delighted to be able to shake him. "No, no," she whispered as she felt him about to move again.

She brought her arms around his neck, and they stood still for a minute, clinging to one another in that tight embrace. The pressure inside her had become a sort of throbbing numbness, and so she nodded speechlessly. With one quick swing, he entered her completely. Darcy cried out, her eyes closing. She stayed as still as possible, the burden inside now the very center of her sensations.

He started to tremble very slightly under the strain of his own weight and the need to remain motionless. He needed but sigh, and he would feel her become rigid, her breath cutting short. Gradually, he would feel her open and relax. It was a definite sign when her ankles linked on his lower back, and she stirred, stretching and arching.

They didn't exactly found a rhythm, more like something was unleashed and the desire came crashing down, and they fought to make it rise and rise. So they moved almost clumsily, more so when she felt bordering the edge of that warmth and familiar numbness. She dug the heel of her feet against his back, forcing him to move with her. She nodded, letting him know she was so, so close, that the sensation had spread down to her knees and soon she would feel her limbs going stiff. It was then that he gave in.

Loki would deny later that he was not affected, but Darcy felt him quiver violently as he came. He fought as in suppressing the waves of pleasure and gripped the headboard, denting the metal. He panted, and straightened, brushing a hand down his chest. He stumbled backwards, and she had to laugh at the sight of a god walking on wobbly legs.

Loki strode shamelessly, no doubt used to the presence of servants when he was naked. And she was made happy by this. If he had dressed himself right afterwards, she would have felt a little offended for a reason that she couldn't quite name. It was as if he acknowledged her or didn't want her to regret it by moving on, putting on clothes and carrying on as before.

Darcy was not surprised, though, that he immediately took the cloth, submerged it in the water from the basin, and cleaned his cock.

She flopped limply on the bed, and spread her arms to take the sheets and wrap herself with them. "I didn't notice," she said, taking a peek from under the covers. She was confused by a sudden idea. "Is it morning?" She looked outside the window, not knowing how to read the colors on that strange sky. She could only see palely-colored streams of galaxies on a black canvas.

"It is, yes," he said, walking to sit next to her. He rested his elbows on his legs, and buried his face in his hands.

"Are you okay?" she asked, slipping one hand outside the sheets to place it on his back. "You're not regretting this, are you?"

He straightened, putting his shoulders back, lifting his chin. "No," he simply answered, looking outside the window.

"Good," she said, "cause I would've put all the blame on you. Thor would definitely believe you took advantage of me."

"Could he ever forgive me?" He put a hand flat against the bundle that was her wrapped like a burrito, and propped her up. Their foreheads together, he let her know of something she knew he was supposed to keep a secret. "He has not touched a woman in over a year."

"How's that helpful at all?" she asked, sharing in the confidence. "The next time he sees Jane, his sexual frustration levels are going to be so high he's going to break her. He will mess her up." Her lack of tact shocked him into laughter. She fell silent, and he read her hesitation without even trying. "Why did that man call you a giant?" she asked softly, prodding the ground before fully stepping on it.

"Not now," he said, and offered her a small smile.

"What? You don't trust me?" her voice rose in indignation. "You do realize you were eating me just minutes ago? Literally," she pointed out, and he cringed, shaking his head.

"Your indecency is appalling."

"Just saying, man," she added encouragingly. "If you feel like opening up, this is the perfect time. Tomorrow we might end up in jail for breaking the rules. I'm pretty sure we stepped over some line by having interracial sex, and your dad's not going to be pleased. I guess we won't have another chance to take our clothes off and have a nice talk."

"I might find an excuse," he said, placing a kiss near her earlobe. While he had expected a reaction more along the lines of a soft moan, he was surprised with an energetic fit of laughter. "What?" he asked, scowling and smiling at the same time, desperately wanting to be in on the joke.

"Your hair, Loki!" she exclaimed. "You look like a hedgehog." She patted down his hair with both hands, sniggering. "Oh, look! Here's my bra," she happily announced, pulling the piece of clothing from underneath her.

"Yes," he said, taking the bra off her hand to admire it. She smiled proudly; it was a really nice bra. "Pity it did not survive this encounter."

"Wha–" the rest of that question died on her lips when he tore the undergarment apart with his bare hands.

* * *

So, yes! I'm weak. I'm posting this chapter even when I clearly said I'd wait for someone to beta this. I do this only to please you!

Thanks for the reviews. Also, thanks to Aqua, my favorite anonymous reviewer (be my beta, please). I really, really hope you enjoyed this. I don't consider smut my element. So yas! Review away, let me know whatcha think.


	3. Chapter 3

A bit of Loki's POV before he's gone for Hel

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**Chapter 3**

While in Earth, Loki believed it was easier to pretend he wasn't going out of his way to please her. The lost child, the helpless girl, the victim – yet she barely filled those roles. But later, in this strange world of dark skies and grandeur, he was incapable of ignoring it. He couldn't simply not acknowledge it when, amidst the hostility, his concern for her was like a blinking red light; when no one cared for the girl, it was easier to look at himself in the mirror and realize, yes, he was the odd one for even allowing her into his thoughts.

He hated to care for menial, insignificant things, for things that were of no consequence to his plans. Alas, he didn't need to bother with the little stares of disapproval she got, and, while she shrugged them off, he couldn't help to glare back. It was quite the itch he couldn't ignore. It was a sickening impulse that he did not wish to grow accustomed to.

When did it become like this? When, since he lost a brother, he went so far down, he slipped and broke, incomplete now, a morsel tore from him and sewn to another? He only allowed himself to dwell in the gravity when the darkness crept around them, painting her skin in the blue veil of nighttime. And the more he fondled and caressed the prospect with guilty desire – for he desired and refused the idea equally –, it suddenly became crystal clear: it did not worry him as much that he carved out his flesh to make her alive, but the morbid possibility that _it_ would become alive and corrupt her, make her more like himself.

But he had let her feed off his magic, let her see his power, and his ambition, and it was all well, for she had craved it, even if for a second.

He rarely had time to brood in such dark thoughts, though. Darcy took so much of his time, and he permitted it so.

"What is this?" she asked, holding the small golden plate, admiring the spiraling designs carved on it.

"An excuse," he answered. "I commissioned a new armor to be forged. It will take them, at least, a week."

Yes, he paved the way on which she trod.

He managed to remain the sole owner of his composure, then Darcy let the plate down on the table, and he lost all of it, whatever it was, it lost all meaning. He was hers.

There was no doubt whether he could overpower her, but it was more of a matter concerning enthusiasm and, in that particular area, he wholly agreed Darcy was unbeaten, and would remain so.

She had never been exactly quiet, but then, as they simply let go, she became shamelessly loud and vocal. And he liked this kind of approval; he found he sorely preferred the shouts and foul language to soft and quiet reactions; it filled him with a pride that threatened to make him explode. There was no wondering when she was so explicit on voicing her opinions clearly.

Sometimes, though, it took so much in him to fight the urge to gag her. Like that one time they failed to get to bed, and just fell to the floor, too close to the door. It was an honest mistake to think they could walk in a straight line while taking off their clothes. He barely registered the scarce distance between them and a possible audience outside the thick doors, but she clearly had no time for worrying about such trifles when his tongue was "in the right spot".

He definitely put a hand on her mouth after she came, yelling she was building him a shrine once she got back to Earth. It definitely earned them some judgmental looks from the guards when they walked out of the room the next morning.

No, the loud approval was not what was wrong. The instructions, on the other hand…

She wasn't shy about sharing what she liked and how she liked it, but she shouted it with such urgency it was impossible for him not to act accordingly. And it definitely put a stain on one's reputation as conqueror of worlds to have a girl yelling orders.

He remembered how he could just gape at her, indignant at first. Obedience came later, when he discovered how he delighted in turning her into a small, writhing creature.

And, despite her insistence that it made her feel like an object, he was proud to have her and let others notice. They envied her because she was fragile and ephemeral, but burned brighter and hotter, with an intensity that did not coincide with the lethargic endurance of a god; she was like a shooting star. But on the outside, they would treat her with disdain, sneered to show the aversion to the difference that she presented.

She was so strangely different he was fascinated by discovering her. And so she lay in calmness so perfect he knew to appreciate for its rareness. She let him inspect with total freedom. She was unabashed and willing to please this quirk of him, if only during the pause between the times he was willing to please her in return.

He put his hand under her chin, pushing her head back, deeper into the pillow, to stare at her neck. She swallowed under the strain and he kissed her throat. He did not dare disturb the way her hair fell on her chest, in dark tendrils that concealed her nipples; no, he found it painted her skin, her skin of milk, luminous with a powdery quality in its softness. He put his mouth between her breasts, and descended down her ribcage to rest on her bellybutton, smirking as he noticed her stomach quivering. She softly whined, disappointed that he stopped there.

Then he came back up to look at her face, and she laughed, looking to the side. It was a nervous laugh. It took her great effort to hold his gaze when they were so close and so naked. She breathed out, nodding, readying herself for the inspection, one that surpassed the intimacy of having him look at her body. Grateful, he kissed the beauty spots, the plush mouth sticking out in a pout, and her cheekbones rose as she smiled.

"It's so creepy when you're like this," she said to attenuate the awkwardness, but turned to lie on her side all the same.

He kissed her shoulder, and went down, running his mouth against her sides, plummeting when he caressed the curve of her waist, and then up her hip. Her figure was full and soft, and warm and he strove to best it, and he became warmer inside her and she gasped. She was open and fearless; she was not afraid of him, she knew what he was capable of, but she took it.

At times, she stopped smiling, like reality dawned on her and she remembered what he'd done, but he was adamant on distracting her from that line of thought. He kissed and pressed on that spot that made her go rigid. She trembled, letting out a soft moan, forgetting again.

It was then, by the third day, that she started to look spent, preferring to lie, busy as she played with his helmet. He even ordered a new one; the weight was almost unbearable, like she had dreamed, but she wore it for some time as she sat with her knees bent, legs underneath her, shoulders back, rear sticking out, her silhouette creating a beautiful _S_.

The maid almost tripped on her way inside when she saw the girl naked wearing the helmet and Loki next to her, caressing the girl's back absentmindedly. At least Darcy had enough decency to quickly cover herself with the sheets, a courtesy that the god wouldn't show to please anyone under his station.

Darcy waited, wrapped in the sheets, while he paced stark naked without shame. Two large men carried inside a large bronze tub. Darcy disapproved of this caprice, but he couldn't be bothered to walk out while their week was rapidly being consumed to the kisses and touches.

Hand in hand, they would step into the tub, and lowered while staring into each other's eyes.

This was one of those times when she seemed so strangely speechless.

He stretched, relaxing, letting the nape of his head rest on the brim, while his feet were propped up outside the water. He was entirely too tall to fit in the tub.

"At some point we'll need to take a real shower," she said.

"Why?" he asked, and she couldn't find the words to counter it.

She straddled him, and he watched, without moving, resting his arms against the rim of the tub. She lowered herself, taking him with one hand to guide him inside her. Her hands glided over his chest, resurfacing out of the water to grasp his shoulders. She grinned, moving her hips forwards, moaning as the tip reached the very brink. Her hips moved, back and forth, their cheeks together as they made small sounds. He let her set the pace.

He found he also liked her when she was quiet, stifling the sounds, because she knew the maid was standing outside, close to the door, waiting for them to finish, and Darcy had modesty yet.

He gripped her hip and pulled her roughly, making them clash, and she cried out. He expected the punishment; he sought it by doing things like that. She punched him on the chest, and his smile was almost rewarding. She bit down on her lip, resuming the slow pace that she knew would build it up gradually, would take her maddeningly slow to the orgasm. She teased the edge this way, made the tingling linger by dragging them slowly to an end, but, when it finally came, spreading slowly down her legs, it was devastating with its shattering spasms and the subsequent and fast drop from the highest of highs.

Then, as she was all out of strength, he took her head, brushing his fingers up her forehead to push her hair back completely, and disclose her face to really look at her. Her eyelids were about to close, the lashes thickened by the wetness ghosted over her cheekbones, and her lips, red and swollen, wanted to form some sort of complain, but they merely parted. He let her go and she curled over him, her face pressed on his neck, and they remained until the water grew cold.

The maid was over the shock when she entered again, gazing at the pair. Loki took both cloths to wrap the girl, while he himself dripped wet and staid naked. She whispered something to him, and he, in response, carried her to bed.

Actually, the looks they warranted were no longer of surprise; they gradually changed to deadpan acceptance.

There were some things that she passed on him, like the laughs and smiles, no longer driven by anything but the simple pleasure of enjoying a good time.

She persuaded him to read to her. She insisted upon it. She couldn't read those strange symbols and, as she pointed out, there was no cable TV. She did it if only to feel the closeness of resting her head on his shoulder as she linked one arm around his, letting the rumble of the prose lull her.

He hadn't forgotten about her fear. He pushed her outside into the balcony. She lost all color as she stared down into a distance that was so great it appeared blurry. She thought themselves so high, higher than anyone, but Loki took her chin and made her look up to the highest point, where the king resided. His smile was too wide as he talked of this, and she silently disapproved of his hunger for power.

They resided in shameless decadence and hedonism. For seven days, they existed for eating, fucking and engaging in debates that were heated in all except for the volume, for they spoke with a peace product of the afterglow and haze. It was an absolute pause, and, therefore, it was easy to ignore the passage of time.

He thought it was a strategy of her to slow down time by forcing themselves to slow down as well.

Everything seemed to halt. Her gaze became more forlorn, and she held it longer. She stopped laughing or shouting at him. Then, when he took her, she exhaled a shaky moan that curled around his neck. She rarely moved her hands from around his neck. She rarely moved at all. She stared into his eyes, and let him stay on top. It has become slow and lingering to the point it became only an embrace.

The day before his departure, Darcy wasn't looking at him, but didn't complain when his hands roamed up her side, cupping her breast. She closed her eyes when he kissed her cheek. She silently rolled over on her back and parted her legs, pushing the back of her head further into the pillow, the trail of his seed still running down her thighs.

He got angry by this.

Loki jumped off the bed, taking the closest thing to throw it against the wall, which happened to be a chair. Darcy watched the explosion of splinters as the pieces fall.

She couldn't make him calm down, she herself felt so tired, so robbed of the energy to soothe him when she felt the staggering and crippling weight of the imminent farewell. She wished to please him anyway, she needed to please him, and so she took his hand, surprising him. He turned around, his shoulders rapidly rising and falling with his panting. She took him to bed, and made him forget, took him into his mouth, and he couldn't even fight back.

Loki smiled when the glimmer of a fight shone through the cracks of the bleakness. It was when he tried to take her hair, and she stopped, slapping his hand away.

Darcy hadn't seen him stutter, not until that point when he trampled on the sounds and words, letting them out too fast. She put her closed lips on the tip, and smiled, and then her head descended, her lips opening gradually to press hard and tight against the girth.

He was confused when she asked him to hold her, but complied. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how ridiculous she was, letting her feelings get the best of her, when he himself found comfort in their closeness.

For some time, he had managed to ignore the itch, but he couldn't help console her, assure her it would take Odin's power itself to end him. She nodded, knowing they wouldn't see each other again.

She thought of Jane as he kissed her entire body. This sacrifice was for her, for the shadow of a friendship that she treasured. Darcy was human and giving, willing to sacrifice the patronage and company of a god for a relation that had shriveled to an acquaintance.

The night seemed to elongate, and she pled for a fatigue that would take her for good, so he indulged her this last time. He took her until she could no longer stay awake, until the pleasure had been exhausted, and there was only rawness, tenderness and bruising. Last thing she saw before falling asleep was his clear gaze holding her own, and she closed her eyes, contemplating the option not to open them again as to never let the picture fade, locking it away in the darkness.

So she'd fallen in love. What a fool, Darcy Lewis, what a fool she was.

When Thor appeared, he found Loki still holding her, her naked body partly resting over his, her cheek on his chest, their legs intertwined. Loki sat upright, and she rolled off him, flopping on her back, her breasts waggling in the most enticing manner. Thor had to look away, but couldn't help to take another peek when she hummed, her naked figure stretching.

Darcy awoke, blinking in the darkness, alarm brewing in her expression at seeing the bigger silhouette of Thor. Loki hushed her, and placed a hand on her head, and she became soft, collapsing back on the bed.

Thor gazed upon her naked form. When he heard Loki chuckle, he looked away, swallowing.

Loki pulled the sheet up to her chin slowly, his knuckles brushing her curves. She stirred and moaned softly, hugging the pillow.

"Celibacy does not agree with you, brother," said Loki.

Thor was too distracted to acknowledge the fraternal term. "Hurry. It is time," he said. Thor scowled when Loki just proceeded to put on the armors pieces that lay on the table. "You are not saying goodbye."

"She has accepted it already. I do not wish to torment her with words of consolation that she knows are lies, to torture her with the hope that we might see each other again," Loki replied, his tone bordering on anger. "I am not yet as cruel as you."

"I will take her back," Thor said. "As soon as you depart."

"No," Loki snapped. "She will remain here, until I have returned and made sure that I did not fail." He buckled the gauntlet with force. "Besides…" He turned to look into Thor's eyes, smirking, gloating in his past mistake. "I fear your gross incompetence might result in her demise once more, and that will, most regrettably, reverse all my endeavors."

"You are aware that, by keeping her here, you are allowing her to hope?" Thor shook his head. "Father would not approve."

Loki smirked. "Ah, yes, have you come here to affirm what the Allfather has so plainly insinuated? Perhaps the phrasing escaped you, God of thunder, heir to the throne of Asgard," he spat vilely. "You forget I am but the bastard son of a monster. Whatever the Allfather requests of me, he does not so in my benefit, but to attempt to correct my nature, my legacy. I am afraid, as you can see, that I refused to follow his express command. I am sorry to disappoint you, Thor, but my bedding with a mortal has not provoked Ragnarök to arise."

"No, but from the sound of it, one could have been fooled," Thor said, smiling.

* * *

The end… lol kidding. Though no more Loki for some time. ):


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

They called her the Bird. Trapped in a gilded cage, she was rarely seen, and on those few moments that they caught a glimpse of her flowing, white robes disappearing behind a corner, the presence of the God of Thunder, treading behind her in permanent vigil, would turn the curious gawkers back on their tracks. He watched over her like a hawk, disregarding the prejudiced sneers and derision with an authority that the Fallen Prince lacked, and so, perhaps, in quiet obedience or reluctant resignation, they no longer dared be contemptuous of the mortal girl that lay with one prince and was guarded by the other.

But the mystery grew, inevitably, around the human and the reasoning behind the favors the two brothers bestowed upon her.

Once she found out about the names they called her, Darcy thought that, definitely, the Æsir had entirely too much time in their hands. They craved good gossip, totally comprehensible for a society that seemed to live in perpetual harmony and peace. She would have lost her mind long ago, too, if her life was like an upscale version of the_ Little House on the Prairie_.

After Loki had gone, Darcy awoke to a neat room, so uncharacteristic of the usual chaos they provoked. She was so used to seeing the general panorama of disaster that the cleanness felt barren and sterile. She walked freely, not having to avoid glass pieces that could dug into her feet. She looked at the empty table; its surface had always been full with bowls of half-eaten food, crumbs and spilled wine, but never more. There only prevailed a single proof of him – besides his smell on the sheets –, and it was the golden helmet placed upon the very center of the desk. Darcy ran a finger over it, catching the cold of its metal, shivering, naked, and alone.

In a mixture of fear, dread and uncertainty, she felt constantly on the edge; her lungs felt always so constricted, and a lingering and warm unease pooled in her lower belly. She gave thanks for the numbness that overtook her, and for that, she had no one to blame but herself. She missed him to the point where she had to try not to think about him. Her mind was always stuck on that same tune. She would laugh and joke, talk and breathe, but everything felt so far away, like she was witnessing it all from a distance as she curled in some dark spot inside herself, and the body with which she functioned was just a machine.

The sense of not belonging was greatly aggravated by the looks she got from the queen. Frigga hated the girl; she despised that the reason she lost her son again was embodied by this small, pitiful child. Her son was a warrior and a prince, not the errand boy of a whimsical human girl. Whenever she saw Darcy, the queen averted her eyes, and walked away, her head held high.

Darcy found that wine helped a lot. She drank until her insides jumped and revolted, and she hurled, sensing a strange awareness, a short awakening when she was on her knees, gripping the basin for dear life as she released the contents of her stomach.

A month passed, but it could have been a whole decade, or a week. Unused to the foreign time and weather, she could not keep track of time. She slept when she was tired, and ate when she was hungry, and no one was there to instruct her otherwise.

She hated to admit that was the longest time she ever spent being sad over one guy. He was no regular guy, truth; he was instead a god of legend, an immortal prince, and amazingly skilled with his tongue. Also, how could she forget? He did save her life. She allowed herself to mope over it, but she needed to stop. Men and life were already ruined the moment she slept with him, so she might as well make the effort to get over it as soon as possible.

Easier said than done. She needed so much more booze if she planned to be successful. Thor disapproved of her method, but his constant respect and consideration for the ladies in general made it impossible for him to deny Darcy anything.

"I believe that is quite enough, Darcy," he said.

Darcy laughed, stumbling, trying her best not to trip on the ends of her dress that pooled around her feet. Every dress they gave her to wear seemed to be designed for a woman twice her height.

Thor tried to snatch the goblet from her hand, but she swung it out of his reach, hiding it behind her back, spilling wine over the trail of her white dress. Her expression changed the next second. She looked at Thor with wide eyes, and he knew exactly what was to come. He was gathering her hair the next second, while she heaved the last of her lunch.

"You lack the skill to withstand this amount of liquor," he said, offering her a napkin while pursing his lips in disgust.

"No. I don't know," she panted, cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand. Thor covered his own mouth, feeling the bile rising. "I could drink you under the table any day of the week, man. It's this Asgardian brand. You guys make it too strong. _Oh_, I could use a bagel." Thor got her a cracker-like oatcake instead.

"What have we here?" said Volstagg as he entered.

The large warrior trod inside, while rubbing his protruding belly. The recent events did not curb his appetite; so very little could manage to do that, actually. Darcy found in him a great companion whenever she wanted to bury the misery with food. He understood the comfort of binge eating like no other.

Darcy sat back at the table, slowly nibbling his bland oatcake.

"You look pale, Darcy!" Volstagg pointed out, taking a plate to gather his dinner. "Perhaps these lamb chops would make the illness go away." He swung the chop before her eyes. Darcy grimaced, and he shrugged, chewing the meat from the bone in seconds.

"He does not care for your offerings, you brute," Fandral said. "Look at her, man! Food would hardly help at all. Not everyone is keen on curing every ailment with… lamb chops!"

"Oh, but they should. Life would be much simpler that way," Volstagg said, throwing another clean bone behind his shoulder. He burped, and Fandral shook his head.

Sif entered, and Darcy, as always, couldn't help gaping a little bit at her. She was so beautiful that the levels of oxygen seemed to drop suddenly. The goddess cared not for Darcy, and would never try to engage her into conversation. She despised Loki with a passion that she did not try to hide, and Darcy, being the lover of the traitor prince, was also recipient of her scorn.

"Do you recall the time we fought that hateful creature? Listen to this, Darcy of Midgard," Volstagg said, puffing his chest, boasting in old tales as he often did to impress the mortal.

"We do not wish to hear your lies, Lion of Asgard," Sif intervened, shaking her long black hair. "All I recall is you getting stuck in a tunnel while making your escape." She laughed, showing a row of perfect white teeth, her green eyes sparkling. "Your immense belly was your downfall, if I recall correctly. The struggle to get you out was greater than the one against Magnog. We spent an entire day pushing and pulling. We were tempted to ask the creature itself to give us a hand."

"I refuse to laugh at such tragedy," Fandral said.

"Thank you, my friend," Volstagg replied, brushing his long, reddish beard with his fingers.

"I refuse to laugh for the simple reason that I committed the grave mistake of trailing behind you. As consequence, I got trapped as well, forced to fight Magnog all alone while the rest of you remained inside the tunnel plugged by this barrel of lard." They all laughed at Fandral's words. "I do remember your boots kicking in the air as you grunted and struggled to gain passage through such a narrow space. Only one as _thick_ as you could believe that possible."

Volstagg blushed, and continued eating in silence.

"What can you tell us, Darcy, of the times Thor spent as a mortal?" Fandral said, noticing how the cheerful mood had noticeably improved the girl's condition. "I assume that, without his powers, the God of Thunder was as useless as this oaf in times of need."

"I don't know about that," Darcy said, "but he sure ate just as much."

"I miss that hot, black beverage. How did you call it?" Thor asked.

"Coffee, Thor. And now that we're among friends, I have to tell you that Jane had to pass a notice around the entire town, warning every cafeteria not to sell you any. You were either hyper or drunk. All the time."

"Or overturned by that metal carriage you used as transportation," he reminded Darcy, rising his own glass.

"Or tased," Darcy added, smiling proudly. "Oh, I took him down with a weapon that shoots electricity," she clarified for the rest.

"By Valhalla! The God of Thunder defeated by his own power?" Fandral exclaimed. "And wielded no less than by a mortal girl. For shame, Thor. Loki is right. Your own arrogance will be your demise."

At the mention of his name, Darcy paled and stilled, her smile flattening gradually until the corners of her lips curled downwards.

"Excuse me," Darcy muttered, standing up to walk out.

She couldn't move fast enough. She hung her head as she hurried back to her room. She was no longer staying in Loki's bedroom; she refused to be perturbed by the faint scent of him in the air, the persistent ghost of his touch tingling her, calling out for her, stealing her from her dreams.

She entered the small room, closing the wooden door, and pressed her forehead against it. Her heart was racing, hammering against her eardrums. She closed her hands in fists and waited for the buzz to go away, the grey shadow that formed around her vision to dissipate. She sat on the bed, pale and covered in cold sweat, her body trembling. She reached for the pitcher of water, but it slipped between her clammy fingers, thudding on the table.

Darcy saw no point in Loki going away to release her soul, to spare her from Hela's torments, when his own absence signified the beginning of something worse. She craved for his silent comfort. She had no one to turn to; with the God of Lies gone, no one was there to hold her as he once did. Thor would please her, but she would soon feel him going rigid with awkwardness as the embrace lingered, a gesture that he would find was more a burden. Loki held her with a sincerity that he reserved only for her.

The very next morning she got a visit from Volstagg. "Would the lady care for some company?" he said as he bent his neck to walk through the small doorframe. "Ah, more of those fried bacon slices," he asked the maid as she set the bowls on the table. "You are a treasure, Darcy. You will go down on the books of Asgardian history as the mortal who presented us with the gift of bacon."

"I think I've done worse things to merit such privilege," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I'm teaching them how to make pancakes tomorrow."

"Splendid!" Volstagg roared happily. He sat on the table, and, while Darcy could manage to sit cross–legged, the chair only served as a stool for his massive figure. "You deprived us of your wonderful company rather abruptly last night. I pray to the Allfather you are well, Darcy."

"_Yeah_," she dragged the word as she always did when she was coming up with a lie. "Just a headache. Too much alcohol," she said, rummaging through her food with the fork.

Volstagg erupted into a resounding cackle, spitting small food particles all over the table. "I told you so. No human can endure the effects of our liquor. It is brewed for stronger constitutions." He slammed his own chest with one beefy fist to emphasize his meaning. "I must implore you to cease drinking it, Darcy," he said then in a sweet whisper. "You appear much slender, and I fear for your sickly condition as a human."

"Offensive, but thanks," she said sarcastically.

They entered into the pause when they proceeded to devour, and nod and hum at each other in agreement.

"Now, I must speak of something, which I refrained to communicate earlier in fear it would inhibit your appetite," he said, cleaning the corners of his mouth. "It is no secret that you miss Loki. No," he said, waving his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. "It is quite evident. It has been long since he departed to that wretched strumpet's lair. Pardon my foul language, Darcy, I should not speak in such a manner in front of a lady," he chastised himself, but the intention was immediately lost when he burped. "You must apologize that fault as well."

"It's okay. It's not like I understand what that–how was it that you called her?" She squinted. Volstagg refused to repeat the insult.

"Loki _will_ return. We must not fret for him, rather for the consequences after he had angered Hela _again_. She is not one to forgive or to let debts go unpaid, but it will take more that the Goddess of Death herself to end Loki..." He poured Darcy a glass of wine, and she grimaced, feeling her gag reflex tightening at the sight of the dark liquid. "…or a human girl," he added, waggling his bushy eyebrows.

Darcy cocked one eyebrow, feigning irritation, and he quickly cleared his throat, and looked down.

She spent the rest of the morning watching Volstagg get drunk, laugh and retell his heroic deeds. Officially, he had become her favorite person.

At times, she felt bad for letting words lift her spirit. She didn't have to do anything, except for waiting, and the weight of that guilt increased every time she stopped and realized she was letting herself smile, forget and be happy. She lived in a fragile balance, and each time the scale on which her worries stood was pulled down, she became paralyzed, unable to think of all the horrible things Loki had to be going through just to free her.

She didn't imagine, though, that the greater consolation would come from the one person she less expected. And she literally ran into them by maintaining the habit of not looking ahead whenever she wanted to escape back to her little bedroom.

"I am _so_ sorry," Darcy apologized, stumbling backwards. She looked up to stare into Sif's emerald eyes.

The goddess nodded, her lips pursed, and continued walking down the corridor. Sif would barely look at her, not believing Darcy was worth her time. She, who lay with the traitor, was not even worth Thor's friendship, less his favor, yet she lived among gods, squandering resources and taking liberties with the heir to the throne.

"Wait," Darcy blurted out, catching up to her. She noticed Sif's shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, before turning around. "So… hi! I don't think we've been formally introduced. Darcy Lewis… from Midgard!" she added quickly. She let out a nervous laugh, and raised her hand for Sif to shake. "Okay," she said, resigned, after Sif glared at her hand, not making the slightest attempt to touch it. "Let's just start all over again. Why do you hate me so much? Trust me, we are on the same team."

"We most certainly are _not_," Sif spat, leaning back to look at her in incredulity. "Thor might feel obliged to protect you only as a favor to Jane, but do not flatter yourself by thinking I owe you any courtesy. Loki tricked all of us so he could crown himself king. The prospect of anyone desiring his company or touch repulses me to my very core."

Darcy's mouth hung open, and she remained still for a long moment. "That was way harsh. I think you know the story behind this mess, and it's not fair when it's pretty obvious I just got caught in the middle."

"Yes." Sif smiled condescendingly. "I believe we all know already with what intensity you got caught by his trickery."

"I'm sensing a bit of tension her." Darcy squinted, pointing to Sif. "Don't tell me, are you jealous?"

"_Jealous_?" Sif laughed, blatantly mocking her nerve. "You offered _yourself_ to the maker of chaos and misrule."

"No, I mean that you are jealous because my presence here reminds you of how much Thor loves Jane. _Oh_, I see the way you look at him." Sif's smile vanished at Darcy's words. "He would do _anything_ for Jane, even if it means putting up with his brother's bullshit."

Sif's confusion didn't last long. Soon, she was dismissing the accusation with a clear laugh. "You lay with the liesmith, and now you spread lies, Darcy of Midgard."

"Keep telling yourself that, _Sif of Asgard_," she imitated her condescending tone. "You know I'm right."

"And you have come here to gloat in my supposed misery?"

"No," Darcy cried out. "I–I guess I just wanted us to be friends. That's all. I think you're wicked cool."

Sif squinted, coking her head in confusion. She loosened up visibly at the flattery.

"We could, like, I don't know, do stuff together," Darcy suggested, shrugging. She smiled for the time Sif paused to think; the corners of her mouth started to twitch with the strain.

"What do you have in mind? I am a warrior. I do not have time to prance around with Loki's pet."

"No! Of course not," Darcy agreed. "I just meant we should try to bond, you know? Something tells me Jane's going to fail the test anyway, so, what the hell, right?"

"Have you had any training with weapons or in combat?" Sif asked, and Darcy grinned. They were making progress.

"I can't even tackle the elliptic for more than 45 minutes at a time, but okay, cool, I can watch you train, be your cheerleader."

"What is that? Are you requesting to be my apprentice?" Sif scowled, looking at Darcy from head to toe.

"No. God, no!" Darcy refused, almost disgusted by the idea of having to confront Sif. Her ass was grass if that ever came to happen. "No, no, no!" She waved her hands, shaking her head. "Nope," she added after a pause.

"Then, I am afraid I do not have time to spare for you, Darcy," Sif said, sounding serious enough.

"How about some archery, then?" She wriggled her eyebrows.

Sif inspected her carefully, her gaze staying longer than necessary around Darcy's chest area. "You are built in a most inconvenient manner for that task," she confessed, putting a hand on her own waist, sticking out her hip. "Well, I suppose I could spare some hours."

"Minutes."

"What?"

"Do you seriously think I can practice for hours?" Darcy raised her eyebrows, scoffing.

Sif gave her a half smile, disapproving, but still entertained by the mortal's banter. She wasn't entirely disagreeable, and definitely more compassionate and honest than Loki.

"Very well," Sif said. "We will see how the Bird flutters her feathers."

Sif was a hard nut to crack, but it made it all the more rewarding when Darcy managed to make her laugh, even if by shocking her with her own characteristic bluntness. Sif was dexterous in everything she did – which made Darcy feel all the more unworthy to keep her company –, but she did not hesitate to enter into detail when it came to drag Loki's name through the mud.

"I do not hate you, Darcy," Sif repeated. She aligned the small dagger, closing one eye to gain a better aim. "I just find your union to the God of Lies repellent. It boggles me how you can spend such hours of intimacy in his repugnant company. The mere thought of it makes my skin crawl." She threw the weapon, sticking it into the very center of the painted target. "And I do beg you. Do not try to change my mind by repeating what you did to pleasure him. The details will haunt me until my dying breath."

"Okay, that's… good. We are sharing, that's a start." Darcy did little more than watch Sif practice. She gave up the whole archery excuse after she hit herself in the nose with the string.

"I heard of the tragic loss of your memories. You cannot recall how Loki lied to his own brother, telling him Odin was dead when, in fact, he desired to drive Thor away from his right as the heir."

"Yeah, he does a tendency to be a lying jerk. He's working on that."

"Is he?" Sif pressed her lips in a tight line, and lifted her eyebrows. "No one here believes in his utterances anymore, Darcy. Not even Volstagg, whose loyalty to Loki is cemented by years of being led into battle by him. Not even Thor, whose love for his own brother shall never shrivel or perish. Do you believe in his words?"

"I don't have to," Darcy replied. "I can tell when he's lying. Sometimes. If he's not paying attention."

Sif scowled, halting abruptly. "Did he instruct you in the arts of magic?"

"I… uh, long story." Darcy sighed, taking a seat by a nearby fountain. "He sort of lent me a little bit of his mojo so I could live _aaaaand_…" her voice lowered to grunt as she dragged the word, "…then he kinda forgot to get it back."

"Noblest thing I have seen him do." Sif resumed her practice. "Save a mortal. Not without a purpose, I daresay?"

"No," Darcy had to agree. "He wanted to use me to get to Jane and Thor, but sort of give up on that plan entirely."

A silence followed, and Darcy turned to stare at the tranquil waters, hearing the swift sound of the daggers cutting through the air. She still dreaded reflecting surfaces. She would take quick peeks, and then turn around, but she only got to see her own reflection staring back at her, wide-eyed and scared.

And that time, too, she found only gazing down into the wavy contours of her face. She leant into it, the ends of her hair hovering so close to the water. She needed a haircut; both she and Loki needed to get a trim. When he left, his hair reached well below his shoulders. She laughed at the memory of her own fingers pulling his jet–black tresses, but stopped short when she suddenly felt a cramp in her belly. She gasped, her face crunching in pain, as she fell to her knees.

"Is everything alright? Are you well?" Sif put her hands on Darcy's shoulders.

Darcy wanted to reply, but only managed to breathe out a "no". Her entire face reddened as she ground her teeth to fight the pain. It felt like a red-hot iron needle being stuck slowly through her belly, tearing every nerve.

Sif waited no answer to carry the girl in her arms.

Darcy curled, closing her eyes. The pain increased until she became deaf. When she opened her eyes, she was gripping Sif's hand, her forehead pressed against the cold floor of her bedroom. Every sound came back in a loud explosion, and she let go, and hurled with such force that she lost her voice. She coughed the last of it, feeling her lungs in the back of her throat.

Sif frantically rummaged through her mess, batting away mountains of dresses to find the basin. She located the pitch still filled with lukewarm water, and soaked a cloth with it. When she offered the wet towel to Darcy, the girl received it with trembling hands.

Darcy had just enough energy to sit with her back against the bed, and brush the towel over her face to get rid of the tears, snot and chunks of food. She started to croakily chant a series of no's while shaking her head more violently than her sickness allowed it.

"What?" Sif looked at the pool of vomit, trying to comprehend the girl's distress. "What's wrong?"

"I can't fucking believe it," she muttered, her voice breaking. She reached up with her hands to grab the bedding to propel herself up and crawl into bed. She flopped on her stomach, face against the mattress, and arms to her sides.

Sif blinked, too confused to say anything. Darcy muttered something that she did not quite catch, so she leaned over her resting figure, turning her ear to her. "What?"

"I'm pregnant!" Darcy repeated in an exasperated shout.

Sif's knees buckled, and she almost lost her balance entirely. She walked backwards, looking blindly behind her for the chair. She took a seat, her eyes unblinking. "You are with child," she said slowly, reality gradually taking a hold of her. "Loki's child?" She sighed, looking absolutely horrified. She was paler than Darcy. "We must tell the Allfather immediately."

"No!" Darcy scrambled to sit and look at Sif. "You are _not_ telling him anything." She lifted her index finger; the menace lost to the tremors and hoarse plea. "You can't tell anyone. If Odin knows about this, Jane won't see Thor ever again."

"What do you mean?" Sif asked, a light scowl twisting her shocked expression.

"Odin made me promise I would never, ever see Loki again," Darcy confessed. She was on the verge of tears. She sniffed, grimacing as she inhaled the remains of her sick stuck in her nostrils. "Otherwise, he won't let Thor marry Jane, and I owe her so much. She's the only friend I've got left."

"You can't hide this forever," Sif cried out, turning her open palms upwards.

"Not forever," Darcy said, smiling to show Sif a pretense of confidence. "Just until I get back to Earth, and Thor and Jane get married. Promise me, Sif. Promise me you won't tell anyone." Her jaw set, and her nostrils flared. She looked at the goddess without blinking.

"I–I promise," Sif said, unsure, shaking her head.

"No one can know, especially Loki. He doesn't give a fuck about Thor or Jane. In fact, he will use this to destroy his chances."

"You are not telling Loki," Sif stated, making it sound more like a question. She hadn't snapped out of the daze.

"I can't, Sif, you have to understand that," she cried out in frustration. "I'll do what it takes. It's gonna be okay."

"Ye–yes," Sif stuttered, blinking at last. "You might not even be pregnant at all! You are probably just sick." Immediately, they both laughed, shaky sounds to reassure one another.

"And, if I need your help," Darcy said then, "you must help me, but you can't tell _anyone_."

"You have my word, Darcy Lewis," Sif said with her old semblance of strength. She put her fist above her left breast, taking a deep breath. "I swear it upon my honor."

"Good." The girl nodded. "Now, I'm craving some pancakes. What do you say I instruct you in the ways of cooking?"

* * *

Uh oh. Read&Review~

A shout to my anonymous reviewer, Aqua, girl, get an account. See? It worked. You became my quasi–beta. You re–read it whenever you can and get back to me with blunt and honest criticism. Whatever you think needs improvement, baby girl. :D

Thanks for the reviews, esp to the anons because I can't actually send you PMs


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

With trepidation, Sif opened the door, making it creak ever so soundly in the quiet night. She gazed around the small bedroom, feeling her lungs fill with the stuffiness that hung like smoke from incense sticks. Never more Darcy allowed the maids to enter her room for fear they would disclose – by accident or unquenched curiosity – her secret; and so, the small space was filled with mountains of discarded robes, glasses with lingering drops of dust-filled water, and the thick and sweet scent of decaying flowers, and then, in a corner, propped against the wall, stood Loki's helmet.

She closed the door behind her, and the girl was startled, her silhouette stirring behind the white veils that hung from the bed posts. At seeing it was just Sif, Darcy sighed, letting herself collapse back on the bed. Another month had passed, and the excuse of a sickness could work for so long before they would start to worry about her.

"You must leave this room, Darcy. It is not healthy," Sif said, not helping a sneer from showing on her face as she stood on the only clear patch of wood on the floor; every other surface seemed covered by clothes or cutlery.

"This is a _fucking_ mess," Darcy said, crawling on her knees to leave the bed. "I'm in so much deep shit. So, so deep I doubt even a crane could pull me out of this pit of shit. I'm dead and covered in it. Forever."

"Have you eaten already?" Sif asked, seeing the girl's hands sliding through the veil to part it.

"Just some porridge," Darcy said, nodding at the wooden bowl containing the sluggish white paste. She walked to the table and gulped the remains of a glass of water. "I can't seem to keep anything down. The smell of the meat… ugh!" She mimicked a shiver.

Sif cocked her head to look at her. Darcy did seem slimmer, but, thankfully, the shimmer and flush on her face quite covered any signs of an illness, would anyone dare wonder.

"_Why_?" Darcy muttered through clenched teeth, pressing the empty glass against her forehead. "Why the fucking bastard did not tell me I had to use protection?" She slammed the glass back on the table, and put the heels of her hands on both temples.

Sif braced herself for another one of her ramblings.

"You know how different species can't mate, right?" Darcy opened her eyes as wide as possible, gesturing with her open palms. "Like dogs can't mate with cats because the eggs are not compatible or some bullshit, but this is happening, Sif! This right here!" She placed a hand on her belly – her still somewhat flat belly. "It's like a fucking horse mating with a zebra… or a donkey. Our kid's gonna be a mule. Or a fucking zebroid!"

"And are you certain it is no more than an illness?" Sif asked, trying to cheer her up by considering the possibility that it was all a mistake.

"_Yes_!" Darcy shouted, sticking out her jaw more than necessary. "It's been more than two months, and no signs of my period. And you see this? See this glow and flush?" She gestured to her face.

"You look quite well," Sif added, her voice lowering to avoid irritating the girl any more by seeming defying instead of encouraging.

"Exactly!" Darcy grunted in frustration. "I look fucking hot. Just like my grandma told me I would if I ever got pregnant. My skin is fucking flawless. Why is this happening to me?" She sat on the edge of the bed, arms falling limply on her lap. "I can't be a mother at 23."

"I was under the impression you were older."

"I lied to Odin." Darcy batted her hand dismissively. "I thought he wouldn't be cool with his son banging a college student." Darcy's scowl slowly turned upside down, her body shaking with a laughter that was starting to bubble up at the back of her throat. She soon erupted into a full cackle. Sif took a couple of steps back. "I guess it doesn't make a difference because Loki's one thousand years old, and now we're having a fucking kid. _Oh_, man." She dried some tears of laughter with her thumb.

Tired of telling her that everything would be alright and getting yelled at in response, Sif changed the subject. "Why do you keep his helmet?"

"Oh, the horns?" Darcy pointed at them. "He just… left them." She scowled, losing herself in a train of thought that Sif hated to have some notion of. "Is it completely pathetic to admit I sometimes hug them when I go to sleep? Sometimes, they seem to… vibrate."

By staring into Darcy's profile, Sif noticed something in her that was unsettling and wrong. The girl did not look like a mortal; she had a certain ethereal quality that she remembered not seeing in another human. She looked carved out in the most pristine wax, and then covered in fine powder, and, sitting still as a statue, she looked unreal. She wondered whether Loki did not feed her one of Idunn's apples, disregarding the rules entirely. Darcy then turned to look at her, smiling, her skin wrinkling with the gesture, destroying the illusion. Sif felt her shoulders slump, letting down her guard.

Resolute in getting the girl out of that room, Sif paid her another visit the next morning. She wished she'd have waited until Darcy had dressed for herself, because, as expected, it was Sif's duty to help her choose a robe that would disguise any noticeable swell on the girl's belly.

Darcy was a master herself at hiding undesired contours – or the _muffing top_, as she called it. She dressed in a flowing dress, explaining to Sif the paramount importance of drawing attention to her breasts, so they would not notice any change under her waistline.

"Okay." Darcy sighed, batting her hands as to get ready. "Can you notice?" She stood sideways, putting her hands on her hips, pulling at the dress to tighten it against her form.

"No, Darcy," Sif said, her mind escaping to the delightful daydreams of a good battle.

"Don't you dare lie to me or I'm going to destroy you." Her anger seemed so easily aroused in her state.

"You can see but a slight swell, which can be easily attributed to the manner you stand." Yes, Darcy was sticking out her belly, and slouching.

Volstagg greeted Darcy with joy, expressing with loud exclamations how radiant she looked. Fandral agreed, and even Hogun the Grim looked less grim when looking at her.

"No. Fuck my life," Darcy whispered to herself, letting Sif take her by the shoulders to steer her outside.

As strange as it was, Darcy could not think of herself as pregnant. It was a concept that she hadn't been able to grasp. She scoffed at the idea of her belly growing until she could no longer see her own feet. The whole idea, it was foreign. It was one those situations that, until experienced at first hand, it was easily shaped and denominated, but now that she was the one going through it, it was like she was inventing it anew by living it.

"It is going to be fine," Sif repeated in a singsong voice, noticing her worried expression, and pushed her to sit under a tree.

They no longer stopped to stare at the mortal. In fear of retaliation by the son of Odin, they merely looked at her from the corners of their eyes, not once pausing or slowing their marches. It was a terrible thing to behold such a fragile creature under the protection of those highest than anyone. Her presence inspired rumors surrounding Midgardians; no more they were regarded as feeble or small, but cunning and in possession of a magic so great they were capable of enchanting gods themselves. They would not look at her for fear of losing their wills to her ways.

But one dared approach Darcy, breaking into the imaginary frontier that they kept around her. It was one equal to the rest, but with a purpose that would change everything. Tall, lean, blond and blue-eyed, she approached Darcy, waltzing with elegance until she stood, covering the sun.

Darcy opened her eyes, having felt the drop of temperature when the sunlight no longer hit her skin. She blinked, squinting to make out the figure darkened by the luminous background.

"Yes?" Darcy asked, pulling at her skirt, fearing her secret had been discovered.

She smiled, and spoke with a soft, melodious voice, one that was meant to drip poison with its kindness. "It is the concubine of the Prince of Lies that I gaze upon, sat by the shadow of a tree, not yet accustomed to quit the darkness of deception in which you and your lover dwell?"

Darcy blinked, stilling completely. She opened her mouth, but found that she could not say anything. The goddess mocked the girl's perplexity with a rich and clear laugh. She walked to stand by Darcy's side, a pause in her movements as if expecting to make a great revelation. Darcy merely scowled, not recognizing the strange face.

The hate in her voice was less guarded then, meant to hurt the ignorant girl. "I know of this farcical alliance that he intends to pass as charity. Your life mayhap was returned to you as a present from Loki Laufeyson, but you will always act in accordance to his whims. Heed my words, mortal. He shall keep you until the tides of providence turn, ousting him from the silver pedestal on which Odin insists on placing him. With scurrilous lies he humiliated me, I, who used to share his bed, a claim that I own with cringing regret. But now, he shall pay for his subterfuges and tricks, for he stands at a precipice carved out by his hurtful and evil deeds. He shall fall again, ridding us of his seductive manipulation."

Darcy said nothing still, numb from the impression, and the woman took to a kinder tone. "Reap the benefits of your alliance, mortal, and exhaust your enchants. Flee Asgard while you remain in the king's favor, while the son of Odin is willing to deliver you to Midgard, for the Prince of Lies will never return."

The goddess left and Darcy kept her gaze glued to the woman's back until her figure entered the river of Æsir, blending and disappearing. Her mind blank, a buzz replaced the void left by her absent thoughts, like the irritating fly of a mosquito, increasing until it reached a sudden bang, freeing her from her trance. She scrambled to her feet and ran, a hand pressed against her belly.

They laughed and drank, but stopped when Darcy entered, gasping, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath between coughs.

"What ails you, Darcy?" Thor asked, his smile twitching at the abrupt impression. "I daresay you had not being able to shake that illness yet."

"A woman…" Darcy breathed out. She swallowed, trying to alleviate the dryness in her throat. "In the garden... Loki's…"

"What now?" Thor roared, slamming his fist on the table to stand. "What has my brother done now?"

During the pause in which Darcy struggled to gulp as much air as possible, Sif tensed, dreading a possible confession from the girl. All of Asgard would shake under Thor's wrath if he was to find out about the child in Darcy's womb.

When Darcy had explained what had happened, Sif let out a sigh, and laughed along Thor and Fandral, determined to match their volume as to not attract suspicion.

"She speaks from anger, Darcy," Thor said, sitting down once more.

"It should not surprise you that Loki has tricked thousands," Fandral said. "And no one as resentful as Sigyn, for he made no use of his magic to make her love him."

"Sigyn was to become Loki's wife," Sif explained, seeing Darcy's expression of shock. "She was to marry another, but Loki tricked her, posed as her would-be husband. Odin prevented the whole ordeal, but she loved Loki. She still does. Her loyalty and devotion were rewarded with contempt and derision from his part. Of course she wants to frighten you in hopes that it will drive you away from him."

"It was a mere jest," Thor pointed out, in a tone far more cheerful than Sif's. "It has been thousands of years."

"No, you don't get it." Darcy felt that convincing the drunken god was a bigger task now that the first impression was discarded as a desperate attempt from Sigyn to scare her. "She said – Thor, I'm pretty sure she said Loki was dead. 'He will never return,' that's exactly what she said."

The happy ruckus stopped again as her words were heard with more consideration.

"I suppose we could seek Heimdall's advice," Fandral said.

"No!" Thor insisted. "Those were the words of a vengeful woman. She desired nothing more but to make us doubt, and walk into a trap. Loki has the power to shield himself from Heimdall. If something indeed happened to him, something to weaken his magic, Heimdall would have summoned us by now."

As an eerie prophecy, the doors behind Darcy opened and a single guard entered.

"Heimdall demands your presence," said the guard.

Darcy had never seen anyone sobering up that quickly. Thor, Fandral and Sif, they all stood, and marched to leave the room.

Sif squeezed Darcy's shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. "It is probably nothing," she said to comfort the girl, not believing her own words for a second.

Darcy ran to her bedroom, earning some more curious looks from the gods that steered out of her path. She rummaged through her mess, pushing piles of books and clothes, throwing pillows and knocking downs bowls of food. She smiled triumphantly when the glimmer of gold caught her attention from under the bed. She squatted, taking one of the horns to drag their weight near her. She fell on her butt, out of breath, looking at Loki's helmet.

The hum seemed clearer, visible in ripples that distorted the air around it.

A hand placed on Darcy's shoulder, and she started, and crawled on the floor away from the intruder.

"What is it?" Sif asked, looking down at the girl cowering next to the bed and holding the helmet possessively. "Are you alright, Darcy?"

Darcy nodded, wiping the sweat on her upper lip with her hand. "I was right? Tell me." Sif's softening expression was all the answer she needed. "So he's dead? That's it. He's dead, just like that."

"No," Sif exclaimed, smiling.

Darcy pushed out all the air from her lungs. She felt a bit dizzy. She let go of the helmet and went to pick herself up. Sif's hand shot out immediately to grab her by the elbow, helping her.

"That's good," Darcy said happily. "In order to kill him for what he did, he needed to be alive, so… That's good. That's fantastic!"

"Not entirely," Sif said, her smile gone. Still grabbing Darcy's elbow, she pushed slightly to make her sit on the bed. "Thor's conclusions were not completely wrong. Something did happen to Loki, something to weaken his magic. I am afraid Hela might have bested him, Darcy. Thor wishes to depart, and search for him. He will refuse, but we will come with him. What can be done will be done to save Loki. We embark at dawn, and no, you can't come with us," she said when Darcy opened her mouth. "The cold will kill you. I am afraid you will have to wait longer."

Darcy nodded, resigned, and Sif should have known her to be more stubborn. Though it was hard to imagine anyone so reckless as to completely ignore her own weakness and offer themselves to death with so little thought. She was aware of Darcy's impulsive nature, but would have never suspected her capable of making her biggest mistake yet.

Darcy was not thinking when, using the opportunity of night, she scurried inside the vessel that was to take them to Niflheim. The life in the gold and the sound that came from it were like a siren song that lured her to a trap. She hid in the lower deck, curling on the wooden floor as she held the helmet. She felt no fear and no doubt then. It spoke to her, and it was clear, too clear to try to tell anyone without sounding completely out of her mind. It was the path that he had paved for her.

* * *

Sorry for the short chapters. Next one will be longer, I promise, and filled with more goodies and Loki. But it won't be pretty. It'll be ugly and full of pain and that.

R&R~


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

He opened his eyes. His marred vision granted him the imperfect visuals of a sight seen through a glass covered in fog.

A blurry haze of peach came forward, closer, until he could focus and the contours became a bit clearer, but too cloudy still to make them out. He closed his abused eyes, forcing the tears to spill. He kept them close, feeling the familiar brush of her skin around his wrist. When he opened his eyes again, she was leaning over him. Her hair, parted in the middle, fell in a dark curtain of loose curls, brushing his exposed chest. Her smile strained the arch on her upper lip until it was no more. She lowered her head, her dark lashes fluttering over her flushed cheeks.

"Sleep," she said, and he obeyed.

Under no pretense of endurance he had fallen prey to a torture designed by one that walked amongst the sickness, the famine, the decay, and still craved its stench like one immune to a drug after countless highs.

He screamed until the internal passage of his throat tore and the metal of his own blood was all he tasted, until the shouting became his new silence. At last, the pause for which he pled and sobbed for - like no other creature ever did - came, and the illness that was "feeling" found a cure. He wished the poison had only cursed through every crack, finally burning every nerve to charcoal, but then a single drop of venom dripped down his face, sizzling as it opened wounds that were starting to heal.

She cried out an apology, spilling the contents down a hill of sharp rocks. Quickly, she held the helmet again under the spittle, her arms trembling with the effort. And he prayed for a quick death. The torture now was lingering, breaking his psyche with the tempo of heavy drops hitting against metal, of heavy drops hitting against liquid, until the level rose and she had to stop to pour out the poison gathered.

He had lost what brought little consolation: constancy. And there was something new to fear: hope.

They gave him light in the form of useless will, for it was paired with the feeble human strength.

She whispered "I can't" and "I'm sorry" a thousand times… and Thor. She cried for his golden brother, the God of Thunder, but was only granted _her_ visit.

Darcy dropped the helmet when heavy fog crawled and curled across the ground, reaching his skin and caressing it with the stone cold touch of death. She looked down, to the black cloak that spread like the impending shadow of storm clouds, painting what was already dark with unnatural and living, moving blackness.

Even the screams were muted by the stillness of her presence, and the spittle suspended midair, over Loki's face, in a fine brush of bile and bright green.

The fog parted, and Darcy felt every hair of her body raise, making her skin crawl with an energy that shook and unsettled her. She was naked and exposed, defenseless.

The high pitch of her voice, as the shrieking laugh of a witch, broke the silence like the struck of lighting and the ruckus of thunder in a quiet night. "Aye, do call for Thor Odinson, mortal, for I desire an audience with the son of Asgard. Do summon him with your pathetic cries once more."

A silhouette of green and black became visible behind the fog, and Darcy fell to her knees, pressing her nose to the stone.

"You are wise to fear me, wiser than the prince of lies. Behold what good his silver tongue does to him now that he is in chains. Indeed, I humble him now that he realizes the futility of speaking lies when ridden of freedom. Come, come, mortal! You have not yet pleaded for the aid of the God of Thunder. Have you lost your voice?"

Darcy shook her head.

"Then help me appease this want. You must want something, too! Why that must be the key to Loki's shackles. I have no use for him nor do I care for his bold demands. I do not act on the requests of others. I am Hela, and my patience ought not to be tried with tricks or bargains. I release you upon this condition: take your prince, for I will take mine in return, and do not gaze back or endure, or I shall use your flesh and bones to create an armor for the prince of lies to wear so the world might gaze upon Hela's handwork. He would think twice to cross me then."

It was a relief when the wind of perpetual winter came howling, hitting her back as she leaned over Loki's mangled body. She put a hand over her eyes, protecting them from getting stung with her own tousling hair. Sif's voice came to her ears, muffled by the blizzard, but Darcy could not turn back and face the attack of the prickling snow. She doubled her torso, resting her head against Loki's, but he was as cold as the ice that started to gather around their figures.

"What happened? Where is Thor?" Sif shouted over the whistling of the violent weather.

Darcy shook her head. "We have to go," she mumbled against Loki's cheek, but they heard her.

Fandral took her hand, pulling her from the snow that threatened to bury her.

"Wait!" she shouted, reaching out with her hand to grasp the single golden horn that stuck from the whiteness.

Once inside the boat, the absence of the deafening howling was replaced with a piercing ring in her eardrums.

She fell to her knees, her hands hovering over him, hesitant as where to place them. He was a canvas of exposed flesh, cut and bruises, and the skin that managed to remained unharmed was pallid, white as the snow. The poison had burnt a path from his face to his hips, interrupted by his trousers, a path of skin that was no longer skin, but looked red like open flesh and muscle tissue. She took his hand, a bloody pulp painted in black bruises; the bones of his knuckles peeked through, and he had lost most fingernails.

"By Odin, what have they done to him?" Volstagg asked.

Darcy gulped air, swallowed the lump in the throat, pushing the tears back. "Uh, his hands - he had them trapped under these huge rocks. He couldn't move. He couldn't…" She stopped, feeling her chin contract and tremble involuntarily.

He opened his eyes, blinking away the remains of poison, washing the dirt with his tears.

"Sleep," Darcy said, and his eyes fluttered closed. "You're safe now."

"We can't leave Thor behind. I must…"

"No!" Darcy spat through clenched teeth, interrupting Sif. She squeezed Loki's hand harder, pressing it against her chest. "We're going. Now."

Loki had to bear unspeakable tortures for months. Darcy well believed Thor could wait a couple of days. It was crazy that they would stop to consider whether to leave when Loki was laying half-dead at their feet. It spoke of the preference for the older brother, and she had to inhale and exhale to avoid shouting. A reluctant agreement was better than none though, and they left, all minds but two preoccupied with tracing plans to come back for Thor.

They kept her outside the grand doors, and she paced, rubbing her hands as she heard his screams, sometimes falling asleep while leaning against the walls, like a stray dog would. He screamed for three days and two nights. When he stopped, that one night, she despaired, banging on the metal to be given leave to enter.

Of course, a multitude of hundreds was scattered around his bed as he writhed in pain.

"What's happening to him?" Darcy asked, and they stopped to stare, gloating in her ignorance. The chambers of a prince were no place for a mortal, less one deemed as a temptress and a witch.

"He refuses to have the venom extracted," answered a woman that attended him. She looked at Darcy with kind eyes. "He does not trust us, especially in his state." She swung her open hand over his face, signalizing the bandage around his eyes.

In the silence, she could hear his teeth grinding as he fought to keep the pain under control. His fists closed and opened, crumpling the bedding. The red path caused by the venom was now a pinkish bright. He looked so skinny; his flesh tight against every muscle and hollow.

Darcy shook her head, amazed by the recovery. "Why?" she asked, daring a slight touch over the gauze on his face.

His hand shot out to grab her, quickly and swiftly, like a cobra attacking. Darcy cried out when his vice grip crushed her arm, bruising bone. At the sound of the familiar voice, he released her, and Darcy brought her arm against her chest, chaffing it with the other one; there was left a clear map of broken vessels in the shape of his fingers.

He took her hand again, gently, fingers sliding under her thumb to curl around it, the thick and coarse scabs and calluses grazing against her softness. His lips shaped the word "leave," and there was a small interval when they looked at each other, wondering whether to obey.

The crowd started to march past the bed, throwing haughty and hateful looks at the pair, but was halted by the presence of the queen by the doors.

Darcy looked over her shoulder, feeling a small seed of pride inside her. She wanted to laugh in Frigga's face, but was satisfied by looking away with her chin held high, shaking her hair behind her back. It was a small revenge after the months of rejection. She sat on the bed, by Loki's side, as the queen and the court watched. And what was a small sentiment of pride grew into full arrogance when Loki took her hand closer to kiss the inside of her wrist, lips pressing against it for the remaining time it took the onlookers to leave.

His long fingers went to feel the gauze, pressing over the depressions where the eyes were, and Darcy's own hand clasped over his, stopping him from removing it. His thin lips - so dry their color blended with the general pallor of his face – stretched in a grin, small drops of bloods emanating from the splits and widening cracks.

Darcy opened her mouth, before letting the voice sprout in her lungs and travel through her throat, and she imagined she would sound happy and reassuring, all those things that would prove him how glad she was to see him. But when she said his name, her voice cut mid-syllable, a sob arising abruptly and escaping her trembling lips without notice.

He meant to talk, but she was horrified when he could only mutter a low shriek. She ran to the table to get him a glass of water before he could try to get the word out. She helped him sit, smiling when she leaned and his breathing brushed her cleavage.

She struggled with the choice for a second, not knowing where to place her hand to help him drink. She didn't want to get another bruise. She settled for cupping his chin, and he recoiled quickly from the touch. She tried a second time with success.

Loki hated the water. He would have preferred wine, but Darcy believed it would do more harm than good. A simple gulp of wine doing him harm – he could have laughed, had not his throat being completely scarred; even the simple act of swallowing made it stretch and bend in a painful way, but the coolness and the moisture was like balm on his lips. If only she knew the only thing hindering his healing process was her constant vigil and worry.

A cough-like sound distracted him, and he reached with his hand blindly, getting to brush her neck. She was laughing, so he scowled, questioning, and she just pointed out how funny it was that he had lost his voice. He shook his head, still lost, and she said something about needing to have an argument with him, and how it would be so typical of him to pull something like that to avoid getting in trouble. He hoped she could see the glare through the bandages.

"Is the light?" she asked. "Is that what bothers you? You look so much better. Maybe you should…"

Loki heard nails scraping the coarse gauze, grabbing it to slide it over his eyes. The sting of light hit his eyes, and he shut them until they could adjust. The colors were wrong for a second, too bright, too much orange, too much blue, and he blinked, until her figure came into focus.

He saw her smile, her lips painted in rouge, and her cheeks flushed with a high color that he didn't quite remember them possessing before. As evidence of the passage of time, her hair had grown until it reached her waist. She looked slimmer to him, which was the oddest thing, because her breasts seemed fuller, if that was possible. Yes. Her breasts seemed bigger, draped in the tight white dress. The thought of putting his hand on one of them, fingers wide apart, to measure it, it was quite tempting.

"We haven't seen in ages, and you stare at my boobs. Of course," Darcy complained. "Well, don't let me stop you, big guy," she said, and pushed the curtain of hair behind her shoulders.

Despite her lighthearted tone, Loki could tell she was trying to swallow the pain. He noticed how her lips and eyebrows twitched, ruining the illusion of calmness. Even her hand trembled slightly when she brushed back his hair, fishing for dirt and pebbles on his scalp as she hummed an improvised melody.

Darcy needed this time with Loki more than he. He could read it in the dark spots under her eyes and the puffing around them; it told him that her exterior had cracked under the pressure of being silently judged and despised since the day she set foot in Asgard. She had become the lost child, and there was that small part of him that he had suppressed for long enough, but that time he wished to give in.

Darcy almost broke down when he brushed his hands up her arms, over her shoulders to grab her and make her lie across his chest. She didn't even to try to counterbalance it with any witty comment, because her head on his shoulder and his arms around her were not to be spoiled with words.

She held the impulse, struggling with the decision to bother him with her laments. She did so anyway. "I'm sorry," she said. "You almost died, and now Thor…" But the cry never came. She gulped down air, burying the wailing.

His arms tightened around her in reply. She fell asleep almost immediately, and he smiled at her audacity. Anyone stupid enough to trust the God of Lies to watch over them as they rested deserved a good mocking.

She was bold in thinking he needed her cares, and bolder when she tried to feed him. He complied, which pleased her immensely, but he couldn't truly bear the overwhelming taste of food, the overexertion of his buds, and the salt coating the inside of his mouth and throat. It sat at the bottom of his stomach like a rock.

"It tastes amazing," she said after tasting the creamy soup for herself. "You can forget about it then, buddy." She shrugged, and ate the rest.

They had used their ability to communicate without speaking. They tugged at the bond, like the cable cord of an old telephone, sensing the meaning in the force put into the pull. Darcy had grown accustomed to the discomfort in her chest when he called out for her. It was but a slight pinch.

"Oh, they've treated me okay. They feed me and all," she answered when the familiar thread seemed to tighten around her heart. "It's just the whole bitch faces and side-eyes that bother me. I think they just need to hate somebody, you know? And since you sort of sacrificed yourself to save me, I'm now the bad guy."

There was something that he enjoyed though, and he sought it by asking for wine. She would always get him water, of course, but he loved to see her walking away until she broke into the stream of sunlight that came through the window. With that, her robe became but a halo of white fire under it, revealing her curves as she sauntered with a determination that her own reckless self-confidence gave her. He loved to see her move, even if it meant she was leaving.

She stood by the table for some moments, eating grapes while she spoke, and he worked on listening, because her lips parted, clashed and pouted in the most offensive manner. Her mouth was profane, and it boggled him how anyone could devise such a depraved feature, surely to get him. Hadn't they met in the most horrendous coincidence, Loki would have sworn someone placed her in his path to undo him.

Once she sat back on the bed, holding the glass of water, he grabbed her by the neck, giving her a start for which she let the glass slip from her fingers. He nibbled and scraped and tasted and caressed, not minding her muffled protest when his tongue slid inside her mouth.

He wanted more, and quickly. He could not believe how his own hands quivered with the impatience. He wanted to take her, bury himself in her warmth, and lose himself for hours to forget the terrors. He imagined he could alleviate his pain by marking her once more, tainting her skin as he grabbed her with too much force.

She was so delicate, but he could barely bring himself to regret it when she was being so tempting. It infuriated him. All of it, it made him so angry, and he could only translate it into the kiss. He hated not being able to resist, he hated the picture of her luring others unknowingly with that smile of hers. He wanted to make her scream. He acted from pure lust and jealousy. He was jealous of everyone that had the privilege to look upon her, to breathe her scent as she walked past.

She made it worse by laughing, because he knew that it was the sound of her conquering him, acknowledging her power over him, even when it was just this shrieking sound that she made when he kissed her neck, tickling her. He wanted to wipe that smirk, replace it with a grimace as she begged for more.

Loki couldn't frown hard enough when she stood to leave. He was perplexed, disoriented, and angry at the idea that she did it to tease him. But Sif was there, waiting for Darcy to come outside so they could talk.

Darcy stumbled back when he refused to let go of her, and she stared for some seconds at their linked hands. She broke into a laughter that infuriated him, but he released her, almost too late because it had given her all the confirmation she needed, that she did have power over him.

Darcy tried to stifle her laugh, seeing how Sif looked bitter, serious, her eyes focused on a point above her head as she spoke.

"We are leaving again," Sif said.

"To get Thor?" Darcy asked, quickly picking on the dark mood.

"Of course," Sif said with a sneer, annoyed. The red spots on Darcy's pale neck made her angrier than it was rational. "Odin is marching with us. There are rumors," she shot a glance through the open door, seeing Loki seemingly resting. "That some powerful… enemies had joined Hela's ranks."

At the slight shift on the mattress, Loki turned to look at her. Darcy was looking down, abstracted and worried. He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone and this was enough to make her talk.

"They are all going. To get Thor. Oh, don't worry, she wasn't looking for you. They probably know you are still too…" The word "weak" somehow sounded like the worst insult, so she let the sentence unfinished.

Speechlessly, she leaned her head forward, as if praying, and just let it rest on the curve between his neck and shoulder. His temperature increased, and hadn't it being for the bond, she would have mix up the physical warmth for something deep inside him. She sensed the glee that he tried to hide, a bright candlelight in the upmost darkness, buried under layers and layers of cold ground and stone.

She sat upright, looking into his eyes, but the God of Lies betrayed nothing, except when he wanted to, so his lips retracted in that grin of his, and he raised his eyebrows in a pretend mask of pleasing surprise.

The moment the thought of running to get Sif crossed her mind, he caught her by her upper arms, keeping her in place.

"How long…?" she couldn't bring herself to say the rest. The contrivance could be far too great or too simple, depending on when it all had started. She wondered whether it had started before he went away, before Sigyn warned her. And she was the stupidest, stupidest person for running like a scared kid asking Thor to get Loki because he was in danger, and, oh, he was surely dead, someone needed to go get him. He had set the trap, and she had walked Thor to it. No, she had pushed both Thor and Odin into Loki's trap.

Darcy inhaled to scream, but then there was his hand on her mouth. They worked in silence before, so she looked into his eyes, asking him whether he had planned it all the moment she was dying.

"No," he croaked, squinting, exasperated by her wild imagination. He was far too busy at the time to concoct a backup plan that convoluted. "Of course not." As he spoke, his voice became clearer, "I just merely ceased the opportunity. You were so eager."

Darcy's gaze threatened him with telling.

He chuckled. "Odin took his entire army with him. _Who_ are you telling? The queen? The Æsir? They despise you."

She shook her head, feeling a cold sweat take her entire body. His words were laced with a hatred that crawled inside her, making her feel dizzy.

"With the Allfather gone, I am the only one who can speak in your favor. If they know of this treason, I would fall, _yes_, but you are falling with me."

He had never threatened her, not with the intention to make her feel frightened for her own life. Those were jokes and teasing, but this, he was dead serious. But she wasn't so sure it was a threat. Something that she could bring upon herself by shouting the truth, it was more a prophecy. He needed do nothing, just witness her open her mouth, and that would be all it took.

She thought of the baby, almost wanted to touch the slight bump, but refrained. He nodded, waiting a reply, his jaw set. She nodded, he let go, and she whined, gasping for air.

"Why?" she asked, breathless, their mouths so close they gave the image of two accomplices whispering secrets to each other.

"I shall be king, at last, and they will all kneel to their rightful lord. No one will dare mock me again."

Darcy looked up to the ceiling, and he placed his forehead against her neck, a breathy laugh rolled down her skin that made her tremble. She could pray to no one, for Loki had stolen all illusion of a holy authority higher than her. He was her only god and religion, so it made sense that she would implore to him, knowing he would never hear or answer her prayers.

* * *

Yeah. I hijacked mythology and made it my bitch. So my main inspiration for Hela was from the comics. R&R~


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Loki watched her, studied her when she was at her most vulnerable, when she thought herself to be completely alone.

Through the veils, he could make out her figure sitting on the bed. Her back to him, her head hung as she looked down at herself. He had expected her to engage in some act of self-pleasure, but she just sat there, her elbows moving as she caressed the front of her stomach in circling motions.

He let himself lean against the wall, and the metal produced a scratching sound which caught Darcy's attention. She halted abruptly, and looked over her shoulder, her blue eyes widening in terror for a second, before she let herself deflate with a sigh.

"Loki, if you're there, I swear to god…"

She knew him too well.

The fabric of her short gown was as sheer as those damned veils that she parted to step outside the bed. Loki had to close his eyes for some moments, a little offended by the obscene, obscene spectacle of her bareness. She walked around in tight-fitting, thin garments when she should have dressed in gold, silk and gems.

She searched in the darkness, seeing just that. He inhaled, and held his breath when she approached the corner in which he hid. The bridge of her nose wrinkled, as if she was trying to catch his scent.

Oh, she knew him too well.

She returned to bed, and gathered her long hair to sprawl it across the pillow as she lay down. Loki left the shadows, and walked. He watched her slowly sink into a deep sleep. It merited long hours to refresh the memories of her forms and contours, so exposed under the candlelight.

He watched her small feet, rubbing slowly against each other as she dreamt. The hem of her short gown was crumpled around the wide hips, and small fingers curled under it to pull it higher, let out body heat product of the stuffiness in the room. The skin of her inner tights and chest was flushed, and it glistened with a film of perspiration that was damaging to the already wanting thickness of her clothes. Without awakening, she brushed the back of her hand across her neck, uncomfortable with the sweat that pooled in the hollow of her throat.

As soon as he sat on the edge of the bed, she awoke with a cry, pulling at the sheets to cover herself. Loki's weight on the bedding prevented her from doing anything of the sort. He appreciated the modesty, but he didn't wish his contemplation to be cut short.

"Get out!" she screamed, bringing all of her hair forwards to cover her breasts.

"Are you ill?" he asked so low that she let her guard down and could only look as his hand raised to curl against her neck.

His cool touch disabled the anger; it spread in branches of ice that twisted inside her body. She closed her eyes, and licked her pouty lips, but quickly regained her poise.

"No!" she denied, but her skin was cherry-tinted, and her lips were so red and swollen, and sweat ran down the sides of her face in drops that drew moist paths down her jaw and neck, just to disappear in her cleavage.

"Is it better?" he asked, staring at the soft planes of her cheekbones. He strained his torso to kiss her nose, and she scrunched up her face, but didn't flinch.

"Get the fuck out," she muttered, stressing every word.

"_Oh_, I don't think so," he refused, grin on his face. "What would they say if you forfeited my bed the day after I returned?"

"Like I give a shit about that." Her own fingers curled around his wrist, nails clawing into the leather, and she removed his hand from her. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Ever?" he asked, his brow knitting in mock desolation.

Her nostrils flared, and as her temper rose, so did his desire to tease her.

"Not even with just my tongue?" he asked, binding her knees together with his hands to drag her closer. "What if this is a dream? You sleep still, and once you wake up, it will be as if never happened," he whispered against her lips, and she tried to avoid the kiss by pressing her chin against her chest, but he gave chase just to have his mouth hover so, so close to hers, not quite touching. "That's what you fear, the pleasure you extract from lying with a monster. There is no one here to judge you, mortal. No judgment shall pass from my lips. No words, if you wish."

He traced a path of light kisses from her cheek, down to her jaw and neck just to land above her breasts, and stopped there, waiting for her answer. He would either have to accept the refusal, leave the room in complete calmness, dealing with the anger where she could not see him, or he would nod at her affirmation, descending his mouth upon her sex as she leaned back.

He would follow her every order in the intimacy, when they were alone and she allowed him only sounds so he could navigate through her body, as rewarding moans or frustrated grunts; he would seek for both, rowing with and against the tide.

He did not expect, though, her apathy.

"Just get out," she said, weary, closing her eyes. She flopped on the bed, her feet still resting on his lap. "And take your fucking horns," she added, showing more energy.

Darcy lay down on her side, her back to him, and closed her eyes, listening to what might be him acting out by slamming the door, but he didn't leave.

She shrieked when his long fingers gripped both her wrists, and his other hand pressed against her lower back, pushing her to the bed, fingers slithering between her thighs, searching for what she had denied him.

Loki was a god, but she never feared his strength, never feared him when he showed himself in full armor, his features relaxed in a calm expression, never feared the power hidden under the appearance of complete recollection. That was because she never had to fear his impulses, his acting from blind lust and anger.

The bones of her wrists dug painfully against each other as he kept them clasped with one hand. She lifted her butt, trying to escape his hand roaming up her inner thighs. It was impossible to fight. She was utterly powerless against him.

She screamed his name against the mattress, her voice a muffled wailing, and he stopped before the cry had died out, and let her go.

Darcy slowly reached for the sheets to cover herself up to her chin, her hands and knees trembling with the shock. She dared one glance, and looked up from her lashes to see him standing by the table, the helmet between his raised hands. He inspected the darkened layer of gold inside, damaged after being in contact with the poison.

He was working on something… an apology? He regretted his previous behavior, but putting it into words was almost impossible. His vocabulary lacked the words to form an honest apology. He opted for a gentle caress instead, but when he approached her, Darcy flinched, gripping the sheets with trembling hands.

Darcy jumped when Loki threw the helmet on the ground, smashing the stone floor. He was down on knee the next second, his head hanging low, one hand on his thigh and the other landing gently on the instep of her foot. And he waited patiently until she had calmed down and was able to muster a reply.

She slapped him, hurting herself instead. She took her wrist, grunting in pain. It had been like hitting cold, hard rock, and her palm throbbed with a cramp that felt like a hundred small needles sticking into her skin.

"Get out! Get out!" she repeated, kicking with her feet when the hand on her foot slid up to her knee.

Darcy jumped the distance from the bed to the door, her knees bending when she landed hard on her feet. She was running down the hall the next second, the daylight turning her gown see-through, just a touch of white over her pale skin. Her hair lifted behind her in a cape of rich chocolate as she stormed off.

Everyone had gone to save the son of Asgard. The palace was virtually empty. No one was there to hear her cry out when Loki encircled her knees with one arm and her waist with the other, carrying her where nobody would dare look at her, where nobody was able to look at her.

"You're taking me back," Darcy said. "Right now." She pointed to the floor with her index finger, but the message was lost in the way her breasts moved when she gestured.

There was no reaction on the maid's face when she entered. She was used already to the sight of them being naked. Seeing the prince in full attire arguing with the girl was one of the least scandalous things she had witnessed them do, even if the girl was clad in what seemed a very fancy fishing net.

"We are joining my mother for breakfast," he said.

"_We_?" Darcy asked, raising her eyebrows. "Can't I just stand by the edge of the Rainbow Bridge instead?"

She flopped on the bed, boneless, and refused to cooperate when Loki took her wrist, wanting to make her sit up. Whenever he tried to pull her into a sitting position, she would soon slump back on the mattress. He asked the maid's help, but with little results.

Darcy laughed as he took her shoulders, keeping her torso in a straight line, while the maid struggled to take off her clothes.

"I'll have to cancel, babe," she said as they worked to get her ready. "I mean, it sounds great and all, sitting next to the woman whose entire family is in danger because of me, but I'm not really hungry."

Loki nodded to the maid, and she stuttered, flustered to be addressed by the prince. "The little lady seems to have trouble keeping her food down, m'lord," she answered.

"No big deal," Darcy said, batting her hand, and rolling her eyes. "It's just this common stomach flu. I'll get better in a few months."

"Are they common happening?" Loki asked, reaching for the wet cloth that floated in the basin full of cold water.

"Oh, yup. I promise. Though, it was a real surprise," she said, looking at the ceiling. "Pretty sure I caught it from you." She pressed her lips in a tight smile.

"Nonsense," Loki answered. He brushed the wet cloth around her neck, washing off the sweat. "We gods are impervious to illnesses."

"Trust me, this one's all on you. And by the way, you see something you like?" Darcy asked teasingly when he brushed the cloth down her arms and between her fingers. "Hmm, they're a bit tender," she complained with a pout when he ever so gently caressed down one breast with the cloth. "Maybe you should use your tongue, God of Lies."

The maid snorted, choking on a laugh, but quickly went to finish braiding Darcy's hair.

Loki looked into Darcy's eyes, an expression of weary annoyance on his face, as if tired with the antics of a small child.

"Now what? You are carrying me into the dining hall?" she asked once they were done dressing her.

Loki shooed the maid away with one curt nod. "You should act more accordingly," he said.

"Why? Everyone thinks I'm banging your brother anyways, so I say I'm acting very accordingly."

He words had made Loki stop on the spot. Darcy just shrugged and leaned back, propping herself up on both elbows, stretching her legs; if not for her hard expression, he would have thought she was just joking, but she was mad, out to bait him into another argument.

"You know, Thor just have that look," Darcy said, the corners of her mouth twisting upwards in a mischievous smile. "You know what I'm talking about, right? Like when you see a guy and say to yourself, 'man, I'm really gonna a wheelchair after _that_.'"

Darcy knew the kind of power she had over him, and knew how hard to poke the fine line of his patience. "Careful," she said when he started to approach her with long strides. "I'm not your brother. I'm not so willing to forgive you. You haven't apologized for what you did back in my room. And, by the way," she said, brushing her hip slightly against his solid form as she walked past, "you can say no all you want, but if your dad manages to rescue Thor, which I'm starting to believe, him taking a whole army and that, we might have to pack our bags and go back to Earth, mister, because I'm not about to move to another alien world."

Once they entered the dining hall, Frigga was already sitting at the table, a man leaning over her, whispering things into her ear. She waved him away when Darcy entered, followed closely by her son. They were back to being inseparable, and this unsettled the queen with a mix of dread and jealousy, the possibility of this affair becoming more than a fling was now real. Loki was the girl's shadow, and the former, in return, would act arrogant in his company, showing entitlement now that she had his protection. They were more similar than they cared to admit, always ready to avenge their prides once they got the chance. But the girl just was being foolish, while her son was driven by darker motives.

"Darcy, you look splendid," the queen said. "The illness is gone, I daresay."

"No, I'm still feeling a little sick. It just got worse this morning, I can't wonder why," the girl answered, and gave her son a sly look at which he reacted by glaring back at her.

"You look tired, Loki. You did not get enough rest."

"Yes, it must be hard to sleep on a bed of lies," Darcy whispered so the queen wouldn't hear.

Loki halted, the brim on the cup resting on his lips. He looked straight ahead, not moving, resembling a very indifferent statue. "What news?" he asked, placing the cup back on the table.

"It is yet too soon," Frigga answered. "But we should not despair. We shall wait a week, Loki. They will surely come back... with Thor, of course."

At the mention of his brother's name, Darcy clearly saw Loki roll his eyes, something that the queen did not catch.

"No, no meat, please," Darcy said to the servant when he went to cut her a piece.

Loki cocked his head. "Are you alright?" he asked in a neutral tone.

"Does the meat displease you?" the queen asked. "It is a pity. You enjoyed it not long ago, I remember."

"Yeah, thank you," Darcy muttered, averting her eyes from the offensive food. She put a hand over her mouth, and swallowed, feeling her stomach contract in that unpleasant manner. "I think I've had too much."

"Indeed," said the queen, her gaze falling to the girl's belly.

Darcy felt a chill run through her, turning the blood in her veins into ice. "Excuse me," she muttered, quickly exiting the room.

Loki's fingers barely grazed her shoulder when she turned around, shouting, "I'm fine!" She added then in a softer voice, "I'm fine, Loki. I just… I don't know how you can sit there and lie to your own mother, pretend like you care about Thor when you just-" her voice trailed off when she saw a guard appear from the distance. She remained silent, looking up at Loki, until they were alone again. "You act like you genuinely don't give a damn, which I'm starting to believe."

"Yes," Loki said. Her actions not escaping him; she was willing to protect his secret. "I only set the trap, but it was you who lured them to it. Fair price to pay for your freedom."

"No. You're not putting the blame on me," she spat.

From the corner of her eyes, Darcy saw the doors to the dining hall starting to open. She hurried back to Loki's room, knowing he was right behind her.

Darcy could not believe they were capable of having a civilized conversation without it turning into an argument at some point. And, while they were alone, they were more prone to engage in destructive behavior, not having to keep up the appearances.

She was soon pulled into his arms, her back colliding against his chest. He didn't let go, no matter how hard she nudged his ribs with her elbow.

"Look," he said, taking her chin and, raising a golden plate in front of her, he made her gaze at her own reflection.

The polished and even surface gave off an imperfect picture of them, like a golden mirage in the desert horizon. Her whiteness wrapped in his darkness. It wasn't what she could see, but what she couldn't see anymore, which was her face, no flashes of death crossing her mind.

"How did you know?" Darcy asked. "You weren't there when I saw… those things."

The hand on her chin went to tuck her hair behind her ear, the fingers brushing down a lock until they descended and curled around her waist.

"A deal between rulers," he whispered against her temple. He let the plate slid off his fingers. "She was more than willing to partake in my little spectacle once I have promised her Thor's soul. And now that I have paid off my debt, you are free. The immortal soul of the mighty Thor in exchange for you." He laughed, tousling her hair with the gust of air. "A humiliation that he won't be able to surpass."

"You make me sick," Darcy said, putting both hand on his chest to push herself out of his grasp.

"Mind your tone, mortal," he warned her, his own voice lowering to a grunt. "From this moment onwards, we share a secret that could destroy us both if revealed, and I wish to remind you that you are not one made to bear tortures, not the kind they use to punish traitors. You cried at the sight of Hela's horrors. Once the crop descends on your flesh, you won't even remember how to shout for mercy."

"I almost forgot," she breathed out. "You _are_ the bad guy."

"And you are what I demand you to be. For the moment, I request your silence."

"Honestly, though, are you capable of caring at all? Your own brother, Loki... How could you?"

"He is not-" he stopped mid-sentence. His fingers were just inches from her jaw, repressing the urge to take her, shake her. "He is not my brother."

"You grew together," she said, bringing the echo of old accusations.

"Precisely!" he agreed. "I was just there to galvanize his greatness with my existence, to make his accomplishments shine brighter against the stain of my faults. I was taken with the sole purpose to be outshone. We were never raised as brothers."

"Taken?" Darcy asked, walking backwards until her lower back made contact with his bed.

He paused for a moment, looking down, raising one hand to look at it. His finger curled inwards, before he let the hand fall by his side. Finally, he spoke with a ring that neared a trembling confession, "I am the crippled son of a monster."

"What do you mean?" she asked, now sitting on the bed to look up at him. He always referred to himself as a monster, but she was sure he meant it figuratively.

"I was abandoned by my real father." He made another pause, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "A giant, one of Asgard's oldest enemies. I was taken as a token, as proof of Odin's victory. I walk amongst them, as you, despised and sneered at."

Darcy smiled, shaking her head. Loki was beautiful. He was perfect, and anyone who thought otherwise was in denial. He was elegance and grace when Thor was brute force and loudness. Indeed, the younger brother was the quiet reservoir of a cunning mind, form imitating spirit. He was a dull palette of pallor and black against the golden gods. But surely they shouldn't abhor his differences, but crave them. She wanted his differences; she accepted them with actions that she blushed to remember.

And he sat on the bed, his tall form not losing the disadvantage for he always stood taller than her. His eyes searched for something in hers, eyes that would shine with a glimmer of uncertainty, like those of a lost child. She was moved by it, and put a hand on the side of his head, her thumb brushing a fine eyebrow.

"Does this judgment ail you? Does it hurt you?" he asked, slamming his fist against his chest. "Imagine having to live with it for centuries, always hated, always despised. Do you see now? Do you see why I have earned the right to be their lord, to have them bow their heads to me? Odin wishes to crush me under the hatred until he is capable of taming me, but he does not see yet. I am not Thor. I will reign over Asgard. I will sit on his throne, and I will look down on those who looked at me with derision. They will respect and fear me."

"No, no," Darcy whispered, crawling on her knees until their faces were inches apart. She brushed her hand down his jet-black hair, accepting the desire to protect him, a god that had lived for centuries. "Then what? You are wasting your time here. If Thor and Odin return, they will hate you all the more for it. Let's just leave," she pleaded with a whine.

Loki closed his eyes, letting his forehead rest against hers. Her words almost made it sound possible.

"This is not the answer," she continued. "Let's live anywhere, let's forget about them, Loki. Thor can keep his stupid throne. Take me anywhere, away from here. I will go anywhere with you. I love you."

Loki's eyes flew open at the confession. He saw her blue eyes widening, her hand clasping on her mouth. It had escaped her.

For the longest moment, they remained like that, staring into each other's eyes, without moving, without breathing.

Darcy took a sharp intake of breath, and jumped out of the bed. She didn't know whether it had been a good or a bad sign that he didn't try to stop her. Oh, she was the biggest fool. She was a stupid, stupid, stupid. She couldn't take those words back. She covered her face with both her hands in shame, replaying the embarrassing moment again and again in her mind. How could she say something so stupid?

"This is the most pleasant time for a walk."

Darcy looked up to see the queen in front of her. Somehow, she had the impression the queen could read the reason behind her mortified expression.

"Shall we sit? I have been meaning to have a word with you for some time now."

Darcy obeyed, if only to avoid confirming the queen's suspicions by running away while flailing her arms, which she felt very compelled to do. They both sat on a bench close to the railings. The queen looked down into the great distance, while Darcy avoided it altogether. She put back her shoulders though, trying to imitate the queen's elegant posture.

"Loki has always been… assertive," the queen said, putting both hands on her lap gently. She nodded, linking her fingers. "He has never been like Thor. Thor has never doubted his place. Yes, he has had to face challenges that have made him afraid, no matter how hard he wishes to conceal this. But his own duties, he has never forgotten or cast them aside. But he does not possess Loki's cunning. Thor tires and lashes out when faced with something he cannot overcome. He becomes reckless and impulsive. He refuses to see reason when he fails."

She sounded nostalgic, smiling despite the sad light in her eyes. It reminded Darcy of Loki.

"They are both so similar," she continued. "They both will go to great lengths to get what they want. And while Thor fights for it using his strength, Loki sits quietly to plan. I am more afraid of Loki's meekness than of Thor's chaos." She looked into Darcy's eyes then. "Loki will be crowned king a second time. A longer time, I believe. He is not forgiving, Darcy. He will unfold his wrath on those that have wronged him and, now that he shall have the power, he will do as he pleases. No, do not fear, child," she cooed, brushing the back of her hand across Darcy's cheek. "He would never harm you, no. He will resent you, yes, but he won't lift a finger to cause you any more pain. He has now encountered the only thing he cannot get, no matter how hard he tries. He knows he is only pushing you away with his trickery."

"Love and family have never been enough for him. It has always fallen short when in presence of the admiration given to Thor. You are the only one he can claim as his own, everyone and everything else he has had to share or renounce. You are the only one who overlooks Thor's radiance and admires Loki alone." The soft words were over, and the queen spoke then with a harsh tone, spewing plain truth. "Be his queen, be whatever he wishes you to be. You will stay by his side, and speak up for those who he plans on destroying. You will curb his thirst for revenge and soothe his anger." She stood to leave, quickly taking one final glance at Darcy's belly. "I would not wish to see my grandchildren hurt."

"What?" Darcy said, awakening from her daze.

"They will be beautiful," the queen answered.

* * *

OMG so I actually was going to post this 2 days ago but my best friend's birthday was this last Sunday so I ended up staying over for like 2 days, so what's up?

Somehow I wanted to make this happier, but lol idk what happened, honestly. I just had to get over the confessions and all that.

Hope you keep reading this, you guys. It's been quiet over this end ): Please throw some shade or flame if you wish.


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